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20121222_183653
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Her inbox pinged and chimed with each new email,


but she didn’t want the forwards, Groupons, or spam.


She longed for a letter, preferably snail mail,


and not another pyramid scam.

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We could rewrite this,


clear our history with the click of a backspace,


the swipe of an eraser on a whiteboard.


 


We could, so easily; we could just forget.

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Cold, icy rain falls.


I hold my umbrella up


so I can feel it.

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No one was sadder about the left shoe stranded in the middle of the highway


than the right shoe that will never see it again.

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