Who can I pay to haul these beautiful memories away? The sweeter the memory, the truer the love, it seems, the wetter the tears. If I ever told you that I loved you, I loved you, by God. If I didn't tell you, I just didn't get around to it.
Too shy or just socially awkward in some cases to express myself, I've let a few off easy. Little Miss Dynamite got away unscathed. I've annoyed and bothered more than a few to the point that I had to remove myself from their worlds. Poor little Alison. It's been steady, if uneven, since the third grade.
You know that old hillbilly saw about dogs chasing cars, "Well, what would he do with it if he ever caught it?" Buddy, I've caught a few. I can't say that nothing good ever came from it but, then again, here I sit, wringing my hands.
Cursed with good memory, I've never fallen out of love. I miss my mom, my grandmother. Every aunt and uncle, every cousin. As the list grows shorter I miss every musician who ever crossed my path. The sweet dogs and cats, the pretty little parakeets and the odd rodents run through my mind often, if irregularly.
Ricky, the little boy in my second grade class who wouldn't cry if I could go home with him after school- yeah, I tell that story all the time. I wonder what ever happened to Ricky.
As usual, you can't believe a word I say. I wouldn't trade these memories for anything. I guess the best deal would be to make it into someone else's dreams and memories. The sweet ones.
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