waltz to the rhythm of memory

i'll give you the first waltz, my love, though i can't promise the last. the flavor of scotch on your lips dogears the pages of my memories. did i fool you into thinking i threw away the flower you gave me? that little red paper flower...a rose i think, do you remember? was it a rose? or my red imagination? all i remember was the dry smell of the paper. memories forget the details. memories settle as they will into rhythmic ridges and waves. it's not good to fall in love with memories, but the lock on the rotten wooden door is rusted open and the breeze is playing a song in between the cracks. the hinges groan in their sleep.