The first heart I ever broke was my own you could call it a ricochet I’ll go with stupid   though immature is a reasonable copout when I am feeling self-charitable   at nineteen, we were in love – not lust well defined lines obeyed…

I always see her; mind’s eye myopia shows an eternal smile never fouled by frown or dismay. She dances, lightly, through dreamscapes decades in their fermentation. Her long hair twirls behind her, cascading brown across shapely shoulders, wind-blown bangs framing youthful, pristine face. Memory does…