April 2, 2012

let it run mild

You always talk about the women you've loved in terms of how they left you. You rarely mention how they came to you. Did you woo them for weeks the way you did me? Did they fall for it? Maybe one wanted you more than you did her. Maybe the tables turn.

The pattern suggests that I would leave you too. It also implies a sense of sequential return. That I would know you again the way I knew you then. We rarely revise. The things you learned have brought you back to me so they must not have been very novel.

There were moments when I thought it would be much more convenient if I loved you better. If I knew how to. If I told you things in earnest that I maybe didn't mean yet, but because you needed to hear them and I wanted you to know that I wanted the same things as you. Lying wouldn't save either of us though. No one said it, but neither would love.

The comfort we found was a way to correct the time we spent under the scrutiny of misery and doubt. Undefined affection in your best friend's kitchen is better than the definitive night moves of any other cad. I held a glass of water in one hand and your face in the other.
I played with the buttons on your shirt. They were inscribed from their former owner. I tried not to think about the time I told you I couldn't reconcile physical intimacy without compatible emotions. Just throwing that out there like some teenage white flag. It might as well have been. Wishful morals always crumble to juvenile excuses. Sometimes it's better to leave morals out of love. While you're at it, just leave love out of it too.

There's no way to describe to someone that feeble attempt your heart makes at entertaining one's advances. It barely blushes. It takes your flattery and yawns. It's a sentimental sneer-- there is no more offensive reaction than none at all.

It could've been then that I lost you. It's poor timing for honesty or romance. We weren't waiting for each other. We were waiting for certainty. It's a lot like swimming in dark water. The unseen swell beneath is always what's kept us afloat. Certainty always sinks, that's for sure. You don't latch onto that unless you're prepared to drown.

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