I gazed at the far wall above the fireplace where I’d hung an abstract painting I found at the Goodwill, and on each side, two wooden toy guitars. I know I wasn’t the first person to procrastinate a break up because of all the work it would take. All the dividing, he gets one toy guitar, I get one toy guitar.
In the end, he would get the abstract painting. He would even get my mountain bike for fuck’s sake and yes I’m still bitter about that. I would get the curtain rods and the fancy curtains we bought down at an overpriced bohemian home decor store that I can’t even remember the name of now and he would get all the good wine glasses, of course. I would get most of the art and knick knacks and he would get the cat because it was his mother’s to begin with. I would leave him with the furniture because there was no way I was going to keep going back into that apartment. The guilt. The holes in the walls that we both made.
Two weeks later I had a new boyfriend and a new neighborhood, and oh, I got to keep all our friends. I was having sex again, and enjoying it.
I remember the night I’d pranced around in a brand new purple silk nighty from Victoria’s Secret. I was so horny I would’ve humped the couch but I had more inhibition back then so I didn’t. I’d dropped hints like bombs around the living room before he told me he wasn’t attracted to me anymore. He’d told me “you didn’t have that mustache when we met”.
MAMA BIRD 
For the record I wasn’t having sex two weeks later. But it may as well have been. This is an example of how easy it is to screw up in memoir-writing. Because this story is memoir and I ultimetly want to have it in my book, I will have to edit it to reveal the truth–regardless of how my memory WANTS to remember it (it was so quick, two weeks later I was with another man when really it was an entire summer before I met my next lover)
Hard to imagine I am revealing all this–but its for the sake an an example. Easy to mess up like this in memoir.
It is because you are so honest and vulnerable that it pulls us in. Loved the part about humping the couch, we all have felt that way but most won’t admit it. But that is what a good writer does, goes the places that most are too afraid to go 👍
Thank you so much, that’s really kind. I will continue to open myself up, I have a lot more to tell. I appreciate your encouragement, Renelow.
Your gutsy truth shines through the story and I admire your ability. Bits of the past have leaked out in my poetry but a memoir, perhaps one day…
I really appreciated your comment on the end. Just in case I ever get that brave!
You’re poetry is wonderful Leamuse–so simple, elegant and full of truths as well.
I have a feeling you have a story work telling in there–a big story. And you have that poetic voice.
I would recommend for everyone to write a memoir–its a great way to find out where you’ve been and what you want.
You are so brave. You are a strong gutsy woman. I love your heart and your writing!
Thank you Marlene! A lot.
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