I danced haphazardly over bridges aflame, upturned pales of gasoline and bad intentions swinging wild from blazing arms. The postcard came months later, all your mistakes extrapolated in ink, smudged wet with misery and the effortless leaking of time time time. You scrawled out drunk epiphanies that night in the rain when the bars closed and the sidewalks tired of our happy dancing feet, our constant – no, our endless – posturing, they ushered us to strange beds, too uncomfortable to sleep in – beds not built for sleeping in at all! And I hung portraits of your hungry face all over the walls of my skull, composed whimsically with the runny pastel watercolors of my youth and smeared over the repurposed canvases of bad memories that littered the floor... Drunk and intolerable, I can barely make them out anymore. Alone, and admittedly a bit touched, I raise a toast to the ghost of us then -- me: smiling, awkward; you: still, enchanting, spitting out my love like so many watermelon seeds.