Movie Stubs and Concert Tickets
By Oscar S. Cisneros
I still have the leaf from the vine beneath which we kissed. I remember walking with her through the chilled city air, head spinning in a drunken buzz and heart racing with the excitement of someone new by my side. It seemed so natural to kiss on a stranger's doorstep that night. Love, like urban vines, takes root in the oddest of places.
I still have the movie stubs and the concert tickets; the sometimes trivialized remembrances tucked away in private places. In the drawer of hand-scrawled notes, in the box of photographs and faded flowers they live to be discovered. They whisper the tales of moments shared on days and nights gone by: the days we fought, the nights we loved, the afternoons and evenings spent in each others' arms.
I still have her plastic ring from the party. Its fake blue gem reminds me of her capricious femininity. Unlike the other baubles in my menagerie of remembrances, this little trinket does not bear the sweetest of memories. It was worn on her finger after our time had passed and left with me, discarded and forgotten.
I live not in the past, but celebrate the beauty of love for another. Better to hold on to the memories of something wonderful, then to dwell in the ugliness of parting.
