Beaten like a

…nowhere to begin…
She asked if I had a minute,
that turned into an hour and a half conversation
Including, among other things: prose she has supposedly written about me and tales of how I inspired her and how she thought about me all summer long.

But no apology.

boats. current. past.
happy birthday Mr. Fitzgerald.
Celebrated it one year ago with absinthe
now i sit here, sober five months.
Made a list of goals a year ago, didn’t come close to most.

Currently day to day, dreaming of the day I can write and shamelessly killing most of the hours until then.
I have written less this year than perhaps any other.

It haunts me.

-For more in this series and the story behind it, see 13 years

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