The Letter (Part I)

Dear _______

I saw her yesterday. She was sitting on a street corner. I don't remember the street. It doesn't matter- would you remember if I told you? I don't know, so, anyways, she was a street corner. No, she was on a corner. She wasn't a corner. Well, maybe. It's like, you're on a street, and all the sudden, BAM, a corner and the whole thing changes. So, maybe she was a corner. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe's are funny things, aren't they? Maybe this and maybe that. Nothing is ever certain. I'm not sure who said that- Sophocles? No, that's not right. Not Sophocles. Oh well. My memory is fading, it seems. I can't remember her. I just saw her yesterday and already her face is gone. Maybe (there it is again) she doesn't remember me. Maybe she does. Sometimes I wonder where she went after everything. I don't know what she was doing on that corner. Pushing drugs? Selling herself. I was too afraid to ask her. Isn't that funny? Me, afraid? I was never afraid. Afraid, afraid, afraid. You know, I don't remember her name. Mary? Emily? No, no. I just can't recall. Nancy? No. Kelly? No. Sarah? No. I wish I could remember. My memory is fading fast. Wasting, fading, curling up and dying. So many words- I don't have a favorite. Did she? Did she have a name? A favorite color? A favorite food? Did she eat? I'm sitting, writing you this letter (though I'm sure you could figure that out- you're smart. Intelligent, learned, smart, so many words!) The room is whispering again. The voices- they sound old (older than you or I will ever, ever get, though do you think she might get that old? Maybe (maybe maybe maybe maybe so many maybes chances might have beens could have seen it coming oh maybe maybe maybe) They sound old- ( I already said that why did I repeat myself maybe I had to -needed to-wanted to- I just had to didn't I) I've spent alot of time pushing maybes on everyone else. I push maybes because I (I've been told by the therapist (I don't go to him anymore- I don't go to anyone- he was a liar and I was afraid (me afraid? Afraid scared frightened goosebumps mugwumps big jumps sump pumps words words words and down the road I go). I push maybes because I can't stand to live for the past ( past future present time type tips tiles words upon words upon words and down the road I go.) because the past lied and I was afraid (don't start don't start that again I know you're thinking that so stop stop stop I wrote you a letter) I know you're thinking thinking thinking because thinking is what people do of course don't they didn't they (day bay way say words words words and down the road I go) I remember her name now. It was Lucy.

Here ink is slashed across the page as if the writer was ripped from her seat and the pen came too.