Yesterday I drove past an old haunt. We once shared something special there, she and I. We confused nascent infatuation with love. Promises made sincerely were handled without care, then later broken and abandoned. But all the important details are now vague.
I’ve long since lost her name. Forgotten the way she’d absently play with her hair as the autumn sun kissed her rosy cheeks. Anymore, I cannot recall the rich melody of her voice. The curve of her smile has been erased from the blackboard of my mind. These are the lies I tell myself.