One Hundred and Eighty Two

I often wonder what the age is.

I wonder what the number is
when 'young love' becomes 'real love'

What is the age

when feelings become valid
when do I become old enough to have a right to feeling

how I already do

One Hundred and Eight One

I do wonder though
why they're all religious.
I mean that's an odd 'type'

isn't it?
Of varying levels of faith
and practice
and initial belief.

But still.
all religious.
I mean that's odd
isn't it?

One Hundred and Eighty

I waited a really long time for you.

A while ago

I honestly didn't think you existed.

But I kept waiting.

One Hundred and Seventy Nine

I had a dream the other day.

It

worked out.

Between us.

We worked out and

you followed me to LA.

I don't know why I was there. I don't know why I chose it. Maybe I had no choice. But I was there, and happy, filled with music and stories and inspiration left and right. Filled with energy, and a new found love for everything that is what I do, how I do it. You stood beside me, blonde, for some reason, every step of the way, complete with shoulder rubs and warm tea on harder nights, and supportive midnight kisses, and secret whispers.

everything.

And on an opening night, my parents came, to a smashing world premiere of lights and sound, and I stood at the dead centre, awaiting their applause. But instead they looked at me, so confused, and so disappointed. So

disappointed in me

in a way they've never been.

And I felt

so looked after.

And they said to me, with their eyes

What have you done? Where is she? Why did you do this?
Are you happy now?

One Hundred and Seventy Eight

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

One Hundred and Sixty Three

I can't help but think

you would know what I want.

If, somewhere along the way, we hadn't lost each other

if you hadn't stopped looking for me

if I hadn't dropped the white flag

You would be an immense help

right now.

You know me.

i still feel this way.

One Hundred and Seventy Seven

I remember this one time
almost a year ago today
The worst day.

I texted you, when I knew I shouldn't have.
I wanted to see you, hear your voice, feel your arms around me.

But
when I saw you at Atwater, waiting for me,
I just stayed on.

I don't know why, in retrospect. I could've jumped off the metro, but instead I pretended like I didn't see you. I stood you up, and you didn't appreciate that. I don't know why I did it.

I don't think I wanted you to see me like that.

As much as I thought I did. I didn't.

One Hundred and Seventy Six

I remember this one time.
Walking home from the metro, a chilly rainfall aftermath. It was such a cold night. It had been a grey, grey afternoon, and a dingy, bleak night.

shaking fingers
hesitant breaths
one call
two call
three

It takes me three phone calls to finally get out what I want to say. What I really want to say. I want to say a lot more. I want to say something ungentlemanly. I want to yell. I want to swear. I want to drink. I want to say a lot of other things. But instead I say what I know I should. I say the truth, cos the truth is all that matters. "At the end of the day, I don't have you. I don't have a right to feel this, any of this; you're not mine, and I don't have you."

It is terrible. And I have never said it aloud to myself. Whispered it in dreams, written it, wondered it, yelled it at the top of my lungs tonight, but never have I said it, heard it, felt the words on my tongue. They are bitter, and they taste of jealousy and failure.

"You don't think you have me?" You say, instead of an apology. Instead of an accusation. Instead of an explanation or hang up or anything else rational or irrational, anything I could have prepared myself with, you instead answer with a question, a rhetorical one. Out of everything in the world you could have said, you choose to say "You don't think you have me?" in such a hurt voice. Then; "Not even a little?" with the kindest hitch in your throat I feel myself shrink down to the size of a pebble, like a fool, like a fool so stuck in my own world, like you must be kidding and it isn't funny, like how could I not know this, don't I know that, don't I know this, haven't you been paying attention to anything that's been happening, don't I know?

Then

in the softest of voices

so soft I imagine I hear it
but you say it
you say
"Not even more?"

I remember
pushing the phone away from my ear and mouth
just for a moment
just to swallow something in my throat
just to stop a clenching in my chest
I fail at both

I remember
i couldn't walk.
I just stood.
shaking fingers
hesitant breaths