For Greg
Dear Greg, You christened me “Sprig” upon meeting me at 17. I told you my worst fears were “heights and my mother dying.” Well, she did die, and I survived, but strangely you didn’t. I made you dance with me that night, which you let me know was a rare occurrence. And ever after, our meetings were shorthand appreciation societies, Accountability soirees. As if to see (amidst the coded banter and perpetual disapproval of boyfriends) Are you falling for the illusions of this wo