He left me yesterday, and now I can’t remember his name.
I won’t let myself. Absolutely refuse.
Three years of golf clubs, Phillies caps, boxer shorts, concert T-shirts, shaving cream cans, and perfectly crisp white dress shirts all forgotten as they fly out the third-floor apartment window and onto Nassau Street.
No more satellite sports packages or domestic beers in the fridge.
No more unanswered texts.
No more waiting until four a.m.
I can’t remember his name. No.
But I do remember hers.
Giles recently earned an M.A. in English literature at Monmouth University. She enjoys writing fiction.
