random introductions

I'm the girl you bumped into at the grocery store last night. You looked away because I don't fit your ideal.

I'm the girl you turned to when your wife left. When I typed that sentence I accidentally replaced the w with an l. I don't think it was a random mistake. You held my heart in your hands and my body in your bed, and then she came back to you.

I'm the girl who used to wear your ring on my finger. Now my friend wears it.

I'm the girl who taught your sunday school class.

I was the dog washer who used oatmeal almond shampoo on every dog that came through. You thought I was silly and frivolous, but I wasn't telling you I was pregnant and all the other smells made me throw up in the back room.

I'm the girl you taught about chemistry...atoms and molecules, bonds and equations. You taught me about life too. Thankyou.

I'm the girl who drew pretty pictures on the lumber that makes up your walls. 2x4s were better than coloring books when I was a toddler armed with Crayons. My dad built your house, raised me in your house, taught me important things in your house. In my heart it will always be home. It's weird that you live there now.

I'm the girl who bought the 56th cup of coffee you made this morning. Grande Mocha, whip please.

I'm the one who told you God loves you no matter what while I secretly wondered if he even really existed.

I'm the one who followed when you jumped into the sound in the middle of the night. I wouldn't go back to shore until you did, and we froze together, salty and covered with seaweed and tears, until you gave in.

I'm the one who has a bond with him that you've resented all these years. I wish you could know that you shouldn't. Look at our lives now.

I'm the one who gave you that pretty red tricycle. I was 7 and you were 5, and you loved it. My dad wasn't happy.

I'm the one you gave something precious to. You thought it was your song, your machismo, the image you created. I knew all along that that wasn't real, but I knew you gave me your heart. I'm sorry.

I'm the one who's doorstep you showed up on at 2am. You were crying, panicking. I got tangled in my blankets trying to rush down the stairs to you and fell through the window. You think I am heartless. I wish you could know that I can't look at my own 2 hands without seeing your face in those scars, without feeling tears well in my eyes.

Lightning flashed between us once. It was terrifying. We were only sitting a couple feet apart. We were under a tarp in the rain, by a campfire on a mountain. Montana was our playground, the flathead river our soundtrack, neither of us older than 10 or 12. I wonder where life took you.

I am the girl you met on that mine tour when you visited the US. We were 13 or 14. You lived in Edmonton then, and i thought you were exotic. I know it was only a few hours walking with our grandparents, but I was in love with you that whole summer.

You made me a french mix tape. I wanted to know you.

I'm the girl you thought you could touch the stars with. I was lost.