I just don't think I'll ever get over you.

His story came in bits and pieces over the instant message. He was not yet divorced, only recently separated. Noticing his radio had disappeared from the seat next in his patrol car one morning, he drove home and entered in time to find her “entertaining” the neighbor on the living room couch. Silently, he retrieved his radio against his wife’s raging screams, and left, moving out the next day.

Some evenings, he would come to my house, my roommates answering the front door in time to find him wearing the most ridiculous Hawaiian shirts and wigs. I would stand at the top of the stairs laughing as he entered and climbed the stairs to my room. Quickly entering the room, he would lean into the closet, unbuckling the gun harness from his torso, and dropping it quickly to the ground.

A month into our courtship, I opened my email to find a me a long note detailing that he had offered to try to work on things with his wife. “I want to be a good Catholic,” he explained. His wife had made demands as well, asking that he leave his job with the district office and relocate to her hometown. Her daughter, she insisted, and their marriage, would benefit greatly from the changes. Even though I felt so strongly about him, I admired his need to work things out. I had to let him go.

“Please know that if things don’t work out, you’ll have a FedEx on your door the next day with a plane ticket and a spare key,” his last line read, “I love you.”

Bad Haikus!

As requested by my Memoir teacher...


dry heat surrounds me
much like in Arizona
rain beats hard outside

from a shave of hair
it's amazing, he becomes
a new sexy beau

words come together
at their own leisurely pace
why can't I crochet?

a quiet heart beats
tiny, just below surface
stay strong you young one