the bad point

by Arran James

The past refuses its status. Over the telephone it begs for explanations. I’ve been there before myself but there isn’t any dignity in this. The same looping conversations. The same answers for the same questions. She wants to know a new thing: how could I move on so quickly (the time since already longer than we were together for), how could I give this stranger a chance when I couldn’t give it to her. There is no good answer but I give the only one I can.

And I fear for a moment that this is my bad point that L. has been looking for: that I destroyed a young woman. But I remember I didn’t destroy her. It just didn’t work, the timing was all wrong. I was a broken thing then, still hurting from other situations. I am no monster and she is no victim.

My mind turns again to tomorrow. I will allow nothing to ruin this feeling. I really like this woman who is in love with my arms. I must rein myself in, not jump ahead, let flow what will flow. But I like her. And perhaps it is a terrible crime; that I want her more already than I did this past that refuses to let go.

Is it such a sin to leave behind those you cannot love?

Is it so wicked to explore someone you one day might?

But rein it in.

Rein it in.

Everything is new here.

The past can sleep.

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