With no intention of starting a conversation, I walked away. I felt uncomfortable like a bad note in the middle of a violin solo. Chills and a familiar ache pricked me. No. It was worse. I felt like I was bleeding. Wounded by an elbow to the lip in a mosh pit. A mosh pit in slow motion ramming and diving to a familiar tune..
.."Johnny rosin up your bow and play your fiddle hard. 'Cause hells broke loose in Georgia and the devil deals the cards and if you win you get this shiny fiddle made of gold. But if you lose, the devil gets your soul...."
I sat down waiting for the ringing in my ears to stop. Clarity was improving slowly, but inside regret still rocked unsettled.
I don't know what I should have said. I barely make it out the door every morning confident the earings I'm wearing do not require a necklace.
If I'm being totally honest, which I'm not, I don't know love. I know what love is and how to spot it, but I don't know it personally. So when asked anything about it - other than how to make it stay, which consequently will get you regurgitated Tom Robbins - I know nothing.
In my own terms I have been in love. Once. Maybe twice. But really once. I could probably be in love again if the timing and circumstances were different. They aren't though.
