the most basic re-invention.

the most basic re-invention.
veins. wide. shut.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Accelerate.

Lost. Heart.

I find myself lying awake at night. I could be lonely. Or I could just be alone. Sometimes, when I think too much, I notice a difference.

It's comforting to know my thoughts have taken flight to new areas.
I didn't like when they were alone with you.

For whatever reason, however, you keep appearing in the words spreading across my screen like butter on my morning toast.
I see you, also, in the the journal pages I wish I could forget.

But there you are-every morning. Every day. You greet me as the sun does-reminding me that my life is different now than it was back then.


I don't want it back.

All the letters I wrote. All the speeches I promised to give. All those times I wish you would have listened without interrupting...I don't want them back.

I'll let them lie in the pages of every journal. Every poem. Every doodle on the back of my notebook. I'll let them lie there-and die there. Just as one day, you will die, too.

You always said forty was too old.
Does it scare you to know these words will last longer than your lifetime?
Does it frighten you to understand that the truth hasn't set me free-and it won't let you pass without a toll, either.

Some days, I'd like to toss my hands in the air. Send you to Hell. Cut your sweaters into tiny pieces with my kitchen scissors. Scream to an empty parking lot that knew the truth all along.

Other days, I treasure every word. Every lecture; every lesson; every whiskey-induced discussion you've probably forgotten and I've remembered too well.

And today, and maybe tomorrow, I want to remind you--You Were Wrong.

About me.
About life.
About love.
About intention, contention, reflection, condensation, and how long you should bake those quiches from Trader Joe's.

You were wrong about the wind-it breathes with more passion than you housed in every goodnight kiss.
You were wrong about the rain-it holds more hope than my heavy heart has for your settled life.
You were wrong about the drinks-they didn't make me prettier. They made you invincible. And vengeful.
You were wrong about my voice-the empty passenger seat in my car reminded me that silence is the strongest of all encouragement.

And now, when I drive down your street, I have other thoughts.

The road is bumpier than I remembered.
Your yard looks like shit.
I always liked your neighbors that argued.
I hate your bedside drawer-the incense always convinced me I belonged.
Your car isn't you.
And if I turn left a few streets down, adventure awaits.

Without you.

It's times like these that seem to define us-that sounds like something you would say.
I guess I should rephrase:
In my limited years of experience, time with you was beautiful. And the aftermath-was (and still occaisonally is) like one of those dreams where you beg for reality. And to this day-I regret nothing.

Not a damn thing.

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