2007-08-14 - 3:13 p.m.
How many "she's" make up a me? How many different addresses and momentary "soulmates" shared this same fragile, resilient heart? I drive the same streets, haunted by her ghosts. I court her idealism, her naive wisdom, her false bravado. I wear her clothes, writhe to her music, lament her innocense. Dream weaver, seaside with a friend, absorbed in macrame and castles made of sand. "Brandy, you're a fine girl ... what a good wife you would be ..." And she was a wife, so young to be tethered to a serious boy she hardly knew, pretending to be free ... by the sea.
