Driving to Pittsburgh to bury the body of my best friend’s mother, I think about life and the circle, thanks Disney station, thanks rental car. The Circle of Life looks like a circle but isn’t, it’s a spiral, thanks to Time, like metal rings running down the side of a notebook, which makes me think of how JC, in love with S, created a bouquet out of ragged edges collected from the entire class. She loved it, she loved him, we loved them. Then nothing. He wound up marrying a woman who ran off with his cousin. You guys take whatever you want. Okay, good, we want the fridge and the bed. And now I see them all on Facebook, liking each others’ kids and grandkids, including JC and S, who seem to be rooting for each other, which I guess is a circle of some kind, but not one that’s neat and not one that’s whole. Goddammit Elton, you filled it with lies, and we’re left holding ragged fake flowers, looking for a love that’s not going to come around, ever, for anyone, again.