. one .

every morning, eight thirty, i pry myself from the covers, walk up the stairs barefoot and press the on button politely recessed on the coffee machine , roll a cigarette, and sit on the front stoop knowing all too well that these two bitter tastes will be the only to grace my lips for the remainder of the day, the, week, the month.  yet it's green tea this morning, decaffeinated, and i neglected to put on my socks, the black and white argyle ones.  that night i left, i kissed you, saying i love you for the final time and tasting the salty tears on your lips for an eternity that was barely long enough to speak of.  the calls would slowly become unanswered and i wished that they had been the last words that i would utter, the end to a jump start romance that had vanished as fast as it had came.  and i wonder if my need for instant gratification would be the reason you won't answer and i am forced to hear that voicemail every other sunday, you sound so happy, yet i know it was recorded well over three years prior, the voices in the background let me know at least you're not alone.  i tried to move on fast, i'd watch the late night law and order reruns with another female, but i couldn't bring myself to hold her,  i was disgusted by the thought, that was ours, so now i sit at home alone each night to continue the ritual, alone, sometimes under a blanket to pretend that i am not so.  but now i see at my age that i will probably never have that feeling again. it was the last of my young love, those butterflies in my stomache, even though they were never there. from the time we sat on those fifty pound bags of flour in the back room they were gone, it was as if we were best friends the second we met. we know that's a lie, you didn't even like me. the first time i hugged you i spun you around, you were wearing that skirt that i loved so much, it moved a bit in the breeze created through that tornado, yet when i set you on the third step you gave me a look of contempt, i knew never to do that again. still i would continue, for thirty four months, until i saw that contempt again in your eyes, they were green, in fact i like to think that they still are.  slow. stop. back to reality.  i haven't been to the shore this year, down to it as you would say.  i think it might kill me, at least a little bit on the surface.  the only memory i want is of one night, a tuesday, i came late, i believe music was involved, but as i walked in your door you came  up to me as was of the standard, and put your arms around me, if i remember correctly they hit around the third rib from the bottom and your head was buried in my chest, this was normal, but as you stood on your toes to kiss me, you looked in my eyes and said "you smell like lightning bugs".