i’m doing quite fine

November 7, 2007

If fine is what you call dreaming about someone who is distinctly, painfully not who is laying next to you, peacefully unaware of the mutiny that you’re planning when and if only dream boy would answer your e-mails. It’s sad that feelings I evoke from years ago move me more than my current relationship does. Don’t we all have that could-have-been, that i-wish-it-had-been, that I-fucked-it-up? It’s a different story if you know in your heart, you can sense with an uncanny, extraterrestrial certainty that there’s still time. It’s a different story if, even in the midst of the thing, you say, “We’ll meet up ten years from now. That’s when it will be right.” Will three, four years be sufficient instead? By 2014, I might be uninteresting. I might be drained of all the laughter and adventure that you want to convince yourself are just not your cup of tea, not your childhood candy, but that I have seen embrace you no matter how hard you kicked, screamed or wrote. Was I alone in the mall that day when no one believed, but we ferociously insisted that there would be a springttime wedding? When I said your car smelled like crayons? When you looked at my photographs and, though you must have felt so far superior to me, told me, “This one has potential”?

These are the things that keep me from sleeping. I should be writing. I should be working. I should be trying to develop a new fallback mechanism besides repetition, but repetition is what I know, what I’m good at. Repeating the year in my mind. Repeating your words, at times unintelligible, again and again until I know them by heart and I twist them and work out how to steal them, make them mine. You couldn’t do anything about it. I would rub it in your face. “Special thanks to my dear mistake.”

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