Handle

YOU DON’T KNOW ME. Seriously, you probably don’t. You only know what I tell you. If you knew any more, you’d be my friend. And I don’t have any of those. I just have people who think they can predict me. And I absolutely can’t have that.

All that could have been

Really feeling the span of decades. The clicking of time. The frittering away of time. The waste of time. Years looking forward to possibilities for the weekend, sitting on porches and watching, hoping, dreaming. And soon the discomfort of ages, the pivot to spot-check behind me as earth passes by, feeling its draft, the breeze …