The spoken word poem I recite in the shower is the guy I exchanged numbers with at DNA Lounge Saturday night knowing very well we’d have nothing to talk about on Sunday.
The short story that got trashed in workshop is the friend who stopped talking to me because our relationship “wasn’t healthy for her” but keeps in touch with a mutual friend who regularly hallucinates that she’s the Virgin Mary.
The blog post I keep saying I’ll publish once I clean up some rough edges is the friend who makes a slightly misogynistic remark every time I see him but occasionally says something mind-blowing about astral travel, so I invite him to lunch every few weeks.
The parody I waited two hopeful weeks for McSweeney’s to reject is the love interest from yoga class I figured was just busy when he didn’t text me back – until I ran into him at a club in SOMA and he said, “What’s your name again?”
The prose poem that sounded really brilliant at the time is the girl who instantly befriended me at a networking event but fell off the face of the earth after getting a boyfriend who rides a motorcycle.
The autobiography I’ve given up on salvaging is the ex I’ve slept with too many times post-relationship to remain friends with.
The lyric essay I can’t submit anywhere because my college literary journal owns the rights is the high school friend I instant message from time to time but haven’t seen in the flesh since I was 17.
Just as I’m still Facebook friends with all these people in case some unforeseen circumstance gives us reason to speak, I save these documents in a Google Drive folder hoping one day we’ll reconnect.