Sunday, March 29, 2009

it turns out the song was wrong

I'm not entirely sure what I thought it would accomplish.  why I did it.  It wasn't like me, I am not usually that bold, not usually that reckless.  

I thought about you, worried about you, hoped you found a way to be happy.  Why shouldn't you be happy?  I feel like there is this little string in my heart and, even if you don't know or more likely don't care, its connected to you.  (I still feel it - regardless of what has happened since).  I can't cut it.  I tried: first my hair, and then that ribbon on my wrist.  (A wish I never should have made in the first place).

I keep on thinking that I never should have listened to faulty logic.  Of course it didn't make a difference.  I blame advice.  I blame dancing, alcohol, and the way you held me so tightly (close).  And no matter how many times I tell myself that it didn't mean anything, that it was a bad decision, that it was unconsidered, stupid and wild, (I don't regret it) I don't regret it.

It only matters when he leaves.

and still...















'Love is the extremely difficult realization that something other than oneself is real' - Iris Murdoch

Damnit

I keep ending up here; this same room, though it has been many rooms over the years, it’s all the same. I climbed the highest mountains, I saw a war from start to finish, and I have survived many close calls with sharks and alligators only to come back to this room and realized I forgot something. I forgot to learn the lesson from this story, our story, her story; the time we shared, the time we lost when it was all over. I used to blame them, but maybe the problem is me, I keep doing this to myself, stop it.
I’m not bitter, I’m not mad, just frustrated. I tried everything, I feel like an evolving leap frog, each hump, each jump I learn how to be better at the game and yet I still stumble, fall, crack the end of my ankle on the ground, you put that water there so I’d slip. I should’ve listened to mother, girls are trouble. Girls are trouble.

Keep fallin'


I remember the exact moment I met you.  At the bowling alley of all places, giving weight to the old expression of being 'bowled over'.  I was.  In many ways I still am though our history together makes me struggle between loving and hating you.

I think what we got on our hands is a dead shark.


I could never figure out why you liked me, though I was glad you did.  I didn't think we had all that much in common besides our love of Woody Allen movies, but that was enough for a start.  You were an odd sort, a writer but not a poet so I could still relate to you.  You had quirky ways about you and a sly sense of humor I liked - always making me feel like we were in some secret club, sharing a joke that no one else could possibly understand.

After you had been to my place plenty of times, one day we ended up in your tiny apartment on the hill.  It was then that I spotted the photo of me on your refrigerator.  Or rather of her, your ex.  It all made sense then.  To you, I was her only close at hand.  After that I drew back from you, making up excuses, knowing it wasn't me you really wanted anyway.  I was only a stand-in.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Fairground Attraction


Our timing was always bad.  First, it was me.  Then it was you.  The third time I really thought it was for real.  Do you remember the night we kissed on the steps and made big plans?  I drove home listening to that song as loud as I could, singing happily, cheeks sore from smiling, excited for you, for us.

But it didn't take that time either.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Depth Charge


I must say this before I begin.

I must say that I might not be in the best state of mind, nor temperament, but I feel that if I were to say anything now it will be valid, and serve in relief, even if it is only for a moment.

If I were to ask you of one favor, it would be to call me a fool. I wanted to know, because inside I feel this way, and if someone were to tell me, then I won’t feel alone anymore.
I walked home just now; I endured ten, maybe fifteen minutes, taking each step down the stairs, each step on to the street, and then the rest of the 3,187ft home carefully taken so as not to shatter apart like a submarine that fell into the abyss. The deeper I go, the harder it is to ascend, as the pressure increases, I am questioning my integrity, my strength, my endurance, and my worth. My surface begins to crack, bubbles form in the shape of doubt as I continue to dive. I sometimes wonder if I am delusional as I continue, whether I am the only one that sees this faint light in the darkness. And with each foot, I am learning of how to live with myself, with all my rationality seeping through the cracks. By the end, I might not be recognizable; perhaps I will be a creature of the sea. I will swim with the dolphins, as they too came from the land once, as I forget of tree green, of earth brown, of concrete and marble, just water onto water. I think of the pain of water rushing into my lungs, but the relief of no longer holding my breath. I can stop fighting now. And once I am subdued, taken under the depths and washed anew, I will no longer be I to who I am today. Graced by the light, I will have no words, no words at all.
So can you call me a fool, and I’ll call this love.