“Three years
later, a new girl sits cross-legged on your bed. She tastes
like a different flavor of bubblegum than you are used to. She
opens up a book that you had to read in high school, and a
folded picture of us falls out of chapter
three.
Now there are two
unfinished stories resting in her lap. Inevitably, she asks,
and you tell her.
You say: I dated her a while back. You don’t say:
Sometimes, when I’m holding you, I imagine the smell of
her vanilla perfume.
You say: She was
younger than me. You don’t say: The sixteen summers in
her bones warmed the eighteen winters my skin had
weathered.
You say:
It’s nothing now. You don’t say: But it was
everything then. ” Some things are better left
unsaid