Chapter Seventeen, In Which I Try My Hand At Poetry (Again)

Changing purses today

I found a paper

in my careless, hurried scrawl

detailing how you like your sandwich

from the place down the street

that I'd walk to with a friend

while you were in class with yours.

(Seven lines 'til the end

of my thought. Seven is magic.)

It was folded and ripped

just a paper, careless,

but from the time

I thought we loved each other.

(Four lines 'til the end

of my thought. Four is death.)

Those days are gone -

I still love you, but

just as much as I hate you,

and I don't know if you

ever really loved me.

(Five lines 'til the end

of my thought. Five is spiritual balance.)

I saved it.

(One line - alone.)

(SEVENTEEN IS AN ARC NUMBER)