Her name was Claudia. She was six years old and had straight, copper hair. This story could be true. It could be, if my memory was good enough. But I dont trust it. Not the story, or my memory.
I can manage to recall when it all began, but I no longer have a clear conviction that we were doing something worthwhile.
This morning, I ran into you in the park. Your knack for smiling in spite of everything, for regretting nothing, infuriates me.