Reminiscent
To-day, I thought of you. Who I’m kidding? Not a day that memories of you, of us—how we were together, slips past. How long it’s been now: a year, many years or was it in another time and place, an entirely different lifetime? I try some times purposely, pretending not to remember those times or you. But it only serves to row the senses, and brings the visions more clearly, more painfully. What was I thinking? That’s it, I remember—I wasn’t thinking at all. I was such a fool! And then you left, and the place—ah the place: our place, never felt so barren, and I was alone: then I began to think. Ha…that’s funny now. Some good it was then. . . thinking. It was too late. And now, well. . . it seems but a dream. Well, at least that’s what’ll tell myself. I was dreaming.
Impertinence
My intention was only to stop in the card-shop to say hello. But then Gia started. She inquired of things that weren’t her affairs, and being a past lover didn’t grant her an automatic reprieve into the subjects personal. As it were, I had only known her briefly one spring, and that’d been two years ago now, and it was only to take revenge at another. In the midst of her impertinent, adversarial inquiries, wherein, underneath, and perhaps understandable, lay a skosh of scorn—she made the mistake of introducing me to Helena, whose person seemed understanding and gentle; and I heard in her greeting: English spoken with the subtlety of German, and that was it. Helena’s blue eyes commanded the rest. The shop was soon to close, and Helena was the one leaving early that evening, and was all ready to go. And we left together: Helena and I.
Taylor Boughnou was drawn to the writers and thinkers of the ninetieth and early twentieth centuries. After years of a dedicated reading and writing regimen and journal-keeping of his thoughts and observations of his daily routines and personal travels, he began to write. He lives in the greater Boston, Massachusetts area, where he works as a wellness specialist.
