wanderings

card stock

I found a card you gave me a long time ago.
I suppose they're all from a long time ago now.
It wasn't cheerful nor funny nor tender.
It was from the beginning
of the end
of the end.

You laced it with hope,
but we both knew
there was far more poison in the well
from both of us
than this tincture of card stock
and ink
would ever cure.

I keep it close by, strangely enough.
Not because of that, of course.
That would be ridiculous.
It's become a tiny window
to peek at the formative years
that I've bricked up and sealed away.
A tiny observation window
of a case study of
poor decisions
and fear.

I read it when it catches my attention.
Purposefully pricking phalanges
on rosy thorns
like the flora depicted on the cover.
Just to remember the feelings
of exhaustion
of resignation
of relief.

Remembering the first time I read it
and realizing it was almost over.
While losing my sense of
despair and confusion,
I slowly gained
a modicum of self respect.
A dash of dignity.
Soon I wouldn't have to hide
that I didn't care anymore.
If my apathy had a flavor
it was paper.

I'm not proud of who I was at that time.
I don't enjoy the company
of the shadows of the person I was
that still linger in the corners of my vision.
But I need to remember
just enough to see
that's it's not really me.

I don't know how long I'm going to
keep this card around
before burning it
like the rest.
I just hope the day comes soon
that I don't need that perspective.