I Feel Remorse, For Whomever Knocks on My Door

   The car ride was nothing less than completely uneventful. I was kept busy by the constant, rhythmic thump of the creases in the road. Normally, my imagination would devise some sort of song, or rap to go along with it. This was not one of those trips. There was a consistent low hum in my brain, that caused me to become myopic in thoughts. I looked to my passenger seat, hoping for a sneaking smile. Maybe she would see that my head had gotten ahead of itself, and gently reach over and hold my hand. She was wholeheartedly asleep, in the back seat of the truck.
   This is a flashback. This is how they come. It is a whirlwind tornado, of all encompassing thought, that gets away from me. There is a smell, or a sound, that triggers it. When that happens, it just fades in for a few brief moments, and leaves, like a thief in the night.
   Dinner was odd. Is it strange to set up a dinner with an ex lover, so that she can pick you apart mentally? Literally, on purpose, we had planned dinner around this psychological profile she had worked up in her time knowing, and being apart from me. She was spot on. Yet, she held back. Why? She was constructive, when she could have been harsh. I can handle harsh, and she knows it. She looked amazing. She always does. The low cut tops that bare enough cleavage to remind me of what I was missing. Her eyes, bright, full of optimism, and determination. That little click sound she makes with her mouth when she winks knowingly. I think that is where she was being harsh. Killing with kindness. I could still see her laying on my couch, fully nude, on Christmas day. Eating an enormous meal that I somehow pulled out of nowhere. That day, we laughed, and danced, and fucked like it was our last day on Earth. Little did we both know, it wasn't far off.
   When the mind wanders it can only be described as a frail woman holding the leash of a determined Great Dane. It is going to lead you. You will follow. The leaves of your senses, start as a small wind swept swirl, in the middle of a suburban street. Slowly, it grows and takes them upwards. Since these memories are merely daydreams, it takes just seconds for them to become a tornado. Grabbing the Midwest homes of your psyche, pulling them into the air, and tearing them to shreds.
    No matter whether I see her for a second, or sit next to her for hours on the patio of some local bar, she is both, elation and depression. I'm forever intrigued by her boots. They seem to turn my nearest hand into a magnet. She's never told me to stop. It has never been treated as an intrusion. Well, there was that one time, but I think even she knew it was an over reaction. Every once in a while I will wrap my hand around the shin part of the boot, and gently tap my fingers, as if to let her know I'm there. That small tap. That small pat. The slight, gentle noise of rain starting to hit the pavement. Our day could not have been more perfect, and her impromptu company made it exactly that. We had danced all day. Drank until the evening sun dropped into an orange and purple sky. The shows were loud, and we danced close like two wolves hungry to just play with each other. Earlier in the day, I had been mouth deep below her moans, which, at that moment, seemed like an eternity ago. We ran to the car, and that slow patter of rain began. It grew quickly. I was thirsty for any water, whether in my mouth or on my body, and I began to laugh. Throwing my hands in the air, I looked at her, and saw a small halo form over her head with each street lamp we passed. She was smiling that anxious smile of someone that thinks I have gone mad. I was grinning from the fact that she has no idea how beautiful she continued to look, even with her wet hair matted to her face. We grabbed each other like we had been starving for each other's lips.
   Every time my rough hand, slides up and down that soft, smooth boot, I can feel that breath. The breath of a perfect day.