How I Recovered (Age 20)

We walked out in the summertime
There was ’round eight or nine of us;
We had a chance to stretch our legs
From hours on a touring bus

Some college singers on the road.
The breeze was really blowing:
And she was one among the rest,
With long hair, brown and flowing.

I asked her if she wanted to
Go over – somewhere – I don’t know;
But she said that’d be fine, and so
Over, well, somewhere, we did go

And as we walked and looked and talked
I took her hand and she held mine
And when we joined the others we
Had crossed some sort of friendship line.

And so, we were together, then.
That’s really all it took:
The breakup now was far behind,
I closed that freaking book.

And my point isn’t that the heart
Is always simply mended;
In fact, that is ridiculous
And I would be offended

If anybody said to me
That I’d “grieved long enough.”
I’d tell them where to stuf it, and
Exactly what to stuff.

No, my point is, that was my life,
It’s not some epigram –
The wind and her brown hair became
A part of who I am.

With every day that passes, we
Decide: loving or hateful?
She was there with me for a while,
And I choose to be

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