Posted June 1st, 2004 by Michelle

My love is gone

His boots no longer by my door

He left at dawn

And as I slept I felt him go

Returns no more

I will not watch the ocean

Although, in his case, it would be Birkenstocks rather than boots, and the ocean is the gravel that covers my driveway. He’s not gone yet, not until tomorrow morning, but I don’t think either of us are really looking forward to tonight, our “last” night together. He still insists it is just the beginning. I know better. He knows I know better.

What is it like, being 23 years old? What does it mean to wake up each morning having lived only 23 years? When I was 23, I had just met Wayne, just graduated from college, and had no clear idea who I was. I moved to Chicago, did a bunch of terrible shows and a couple great shows. I flew to Kansas City about twelve times that year on Southwest Airlines. (Can’t imagine life before Jet Blue.) I called my brother Sean so many times because I was so terribly lost, and befuddled by my own actions. God. 23. I can’t even imagine.

Well. I’m curious to see how I feel tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and how exactly I will move on. My stomach is in knots.