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Him:  Why can’t we just go back to how we used to be?  I don’t even recognize that anymore.

Her: Because we can’t.  Ever.  It’s gone.

Him:  Why does it have to be gone?  Nothing ever has to be gone, all you have to do is say it isn’t gone and treat it like its right here.

Her:  It’s gone.  Face it.  It is so hard to bring back a feeling that has faded.  It’s impossible to make one go away that’s replaced it.

Him:  Nothing is impossible if we want it to be.  I don’t think you want it to be when it can be so simple.

Her: It’s not simple though.  It just isn’t.

Him:  Why not?

Her:  Why?  Because I can’t trust you, that’s why.  Plain and simple and out there.  That is something I can’t get over.  No matter how many times I think we can just go back to talking like normal we can’t because I can’t get the mistrust out of my head.  No matter what it’s always there lurking and any time you say something that sounds a little off it rears its head and that is all I can think about.

Him:  How am I lying?  Why can’t you trust me?

Her:  Because I know you’re not telling the truth.  I just know it.  There are things you say and do that make me feel in the depths of my bones that you’re not being honest.  You can tell me up and down that I’m being foolish or that I need to trust you but these are feelings I can’t get past.  These are feelings I have to trust.

Him:  Lets say I was lying.  I know this is a bad place to go because it feels like I’m basically admitting it when I’m not but lets say I am.  What is it I’m lying about and how does it affect anything?

Her:  (laughing) You’re saying you aren’t lying while asking me what you’re lying about?  How the hell do you think that sounds to me?  WHY DON’T YOU JUST TELL ME!?

Him:  Because I can’t!  I can’t!  I can’t tell you.  It has NOTHING to do with anything else at all but I can’t tell you.  It is the one thing that I cannot do even though it is meaningless.  And I know you’ll think that if its meaningless then why can’t you tell me.  It’s because it’s meaningless between you and I.  It has nothing to do with how we are.  Or how we were.  Or could be.  Or would be.  Nothing to do with it at all.  But I cannot tell you what it is.

Her:  This is ridiculous.  If it is something you can’t tell me then its important.  If it wasn’t important then you would be able to tell me.  If it meant anything then you would need to tell me because it meant something.  If it didn’t mean anything then you could tell me because it was meaningless.  Either way, no matter which way you want to serve it there should be no hesitation at all.  You should just be able to tell me and have it done with.  But its one of those things; you can’t tell me because it isn’t meaningless or you can’t tell me because I’m not as important as you think I am.  Either way it’s something that makes my feeling right.  I’m vindicated in telling you we can never be like we were.  Everything I thought and felt was right because you can’t tell me.  It doesn’t matter why.

Because I Think I Love You

Of all of the things that can happen in the world
Falling in love is the best and the worst
If you don’t know whether you are in love or not, you aren’t
but you can be
If you feel like you are in the midst of love, you are
but you may not be
And in this quandary of yes and no is where I find myself with you
with the maybes floating like dandelions in the summer
Is it possible to love someone you don’t really know?
Yes, because I love you
I love how you use only just enough words
Conciseness dominating the verbose
Your silence hiding thought, depth and suspense
Holding its next reveal with anticipation
I love your quiet elegance
Draped seemingly without care but always impeccable
I love you, or I think I do love you
Because you never leave my mind for long
A stretch of time only reaches so far and turn the leaves color over so often
Before I think of you and smile as it were yesterday that I thought these thoughts last
Do I love you still then?  Or did I ever?
Can you love someone you never did but only realize it after?
These cravings never known until well beyond the time they should have been felt
This appetite now present when the hunger should have been long ago
Or were they known all along but hidden in the lulls
And when they rise back like a heat wave unable to remember a time without the humidity
The only way to cool myself is at your lips
The only breeze coming from your words
Do you love someone if you don’t love them all the time?
Every second of every day you’ve known them.
I believe its possible because I have loved you
And then I haven’t until I have loved you again
And even though you will never love me and my love for you will never be more than an idea I think I might have
I will love you every time I see you and I will remember it as if it never left

Serial Lit: The Origins Of Me Love For Your Smirk – Part 2

I found the second part of this story I had written.  It was years ago.  Around ten years ago I’m pretty sure.  It was two pages written in pen, front and back.  I don’t think I really had any direction I was going with this aside from a love triangle.  It’s a little trivial without much depth but I do remember I wrote it on my 30 minute breaks and I usually have my more profound ideas when I can type them out.  Anyways, enough bashing it before anyone reads it.

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Way Back #3

This one’s about a girl.  Go figure.  Even 10 years ago I was still pining.

 

How bad do you want me to see your smile
You don’t even have to ask
Just promise not to take it away.
Of all that is forgotten
your lips perched in a smirk wont be
flower in your hair
draped in white
enchanted
later, all eyes on you
a question
an answer
an offer rejected
an ego denied
a mistake made
how do you apologize
for something you knew you couldn’t do
how do you fix something
when you’re not sure how it broke
or if it ever worked right at all

Writing to ghosts

I’ve spent years of my life reliving my deaths.

A seance to speak of relationships long buried and cold.

now home to wild grass and dandelions

tombstone littered with words spilled too late.

At least you all have company.

Misery never did like eating alone.

Now you haunt the spaces of my mind where I don’t go

A shadow where there is no light

A figure with no shape

A floating specter bathed in a rose hue

You’re not there and I know that,

no matter how much I want to believe you are

You’ve been gone a long time now

some longer than others

some deeper

Some believe ghosts are stuck in purgatory,

to pay for their sins before rising to heaven.

What better way for your taste to linger on my tongue

then to have our sins prick at my mind

never letting me forget how good we were.

But now we are dead

and what we were is fading away

I don’t believe in ghosts

but I believed in us.

…but then I met you

I’ve always thought that a certain someone doesn’t exist that makes you forget
about everyone else.  That it was a character flaw of men and women that they had a wandering eye and nobody was good enough to keep their gaze.  I thought I needed to try to focus on someone who deserved it, and it wouldn’t come natural.  I needed to put effort into making them the only one I saw, but then I met you.  I met you and I didn’t have to try anymore.

Serial Lit: The Origins Of My Love For Your Smirk – Part 1

She’s becoming my obsession.  She shouldn’t be, I have a girlfriend but I guess that’s what makes it an obsession.  It doesn’t matter though I can’t keep Enne out of my mind.  I’ll take a moment in my car in the morning before work and tell myself “not today.”  That determination crumbles the second I see her.  I’ll say hi and she politely returns the gesture but nothing more.  Nowhere near the way we used to talk.  Not even before we became close.  I just listen to her most days now and try not to get caught staring.

It’s harder to feed the obsession lately though.  She doesn’t say much anymore to anyone.  Its like she’s hollow or hidden.  This makes it worse for me as I’m left to reminisce and all of those feelings come rushing back.  The way she smiled.  The way she laughed.

I wasn’t even supposed to be talking to her.   I put her on off limits.  When I met Bernie I told myself I was going to be good for once.  I was going to dedicate myself to her and give it everything I had.  No more casual flirting with other girls.  No more trying to see how far I could take a conversation.  Bernie was the only one I needed.

To this point Enne and I had only had a few lightly flirtatious conversations.  I complimented her wardrobe and she would call me the fashion police with a devilish smile.  She would tell me a certain color looked good on me and I would ask her how long she’s been paying attention.  We would both get a cursory laugh and go about our business.  But when I met Bernie and my attention on her waned she noticed.  She would make it a point to seek me out and make small talk.  She would wait for me to leave at the end of the day and walk out with me or if I wasn’t leaving she would wait around and poke and prod me into conversation.

Slowly, all of the time spent together made me want more of her.  She was like a subliminal message telling me I needed her around.  She was gorgeous, playful, smart and could keep my interest better than anyone I had ever known.

Bernie was like that as well, but she had moved eight hours south to LA for school.  We saw each other every weekend but she was beginning to get possessive.  Whenever I would mention one of my female friends she would make a face as if she had just sucked on a lemon and interrupt to change the subject.  She would occasionally ask me why I was still friends with these other girls and tell me to stop talking to them because she didn’t like them.  Enne pressing for my attention just made things more chaotic.

“So, do you talk with any girls you work with?”  Bernie would ask me.

“Well not outside of normal courtesy.  I don’t flat out ignore them when they talk directly to me but I don’t bring anything up to engage a conversation in.”  I’d smile at the end and make eye contact as if it was a casual response and not something I’d over thought.  I wanted to seem natural as the less suspicious she was the better our weekends together were.  Of course it was a lie, all of it.  I did try to do what I said but I couldn’t resist Enne.

I had only known Bernie a few months before she had to leave for school.  We promised that one of us would drive to see the other every second weekend.  We were doing really well despite the distance.  It had been a month since she left and we had only seen each other the one weekend.  It was my turn to drive down the next day so I was trying to get as much work done as possible so I could leave early.  Enne had seemed to start noticing that I was paying less attention to her and was loitering around the foyer waiting to see when I would go.  When she figured I wasn’t leaving she came back in and said she couldn’t find her phone.

“No, sorry.  I haven’t seen it.”  I told her as I looked under my desk as if it had magically fallen there somehow.  I was courteous but uninviting as I had been with her for the past couple of months.  She stood at the desk next to mine for a moment before whipping her purse around and muttering to herself.  “Let me check in here one more time.  I’m going to feel so stupid if…”  She sighed.  I don’t know if she thought she was convincing or not but it was cute watching her try, I caught myself staring and pulled it in before she noticed.  I dove back into my work and listened as she groaned while pulling her phone out of her purse like a rabbit from a top hat.

“I’m sorry I came in and bothered you.  I can be such a ditz sometimes.”

“No problem,” I responded without looking in her direction.

“So,” she began as her ploy didn’t seem to get me as interested in her as she wanted.  She paused as if she was trying to think of something to say.  “What’re you hanging around so late for?  Don’t want to go home?”  She flashed one of her most catching attributes with the question, a wide smirk.  Her smile was gorgeous but when she crooked the corner of her lip up into a smirk you couldn’t help but engage her.  She drew you in and you couldn’t help yourself.

I looked up at her smirking down at me still.  It’s as if she was saying “Well, what do you got?  Give me your best comeback.”  “No, not that.”  I smiled but felt it necessary to respond further.  I couldn’t just leave it at that.  Her smirk now fading to a closed lip smile.  Her lips are perfect.  “I was just in the mindset to finish this and I didn’t want to break it.”  “Oh?” she continued to pull the rope attached to my tongue.  “Why not just hurry home and think about it on the way?  I think much better at home than this stuffy office.”

“I wanted to relax tonight.  When I get home I lik everything to be done.  Plus I wouldn’t be able to think in the car.  I like to sing along to the radio.”  The last part I didn’t mean to say, it just kind of slipped out.  I didn’t want to make this a friendly conversation just an explanation, but she forced me to engage her with her charm.

The look on her face was  of amazement.  “You sing?  Oh my god you have to sing for me now!”  I did a face palm in my head.  “Now?  I can’t now.  There’s no music.”  She whipped her phone out of her purse and grinned as she shook it.  “But we’re in a library,” I quickly responded.  “Plus I only sing in the car or alone.  It’s not like I’m any good or anything.”  She put her phone away and looked at me with her smile now beaming.  “Well you have to.”  “Why?” I wondered, genuinely interested in why she was so hell bent on getting me to sing.

“Because” she responded.  “My dad used to sing to my sister and I when we were little.  We would get so excited when a fun song came on the radio.”  She turned away just a little and stared out towards the window.  Her smile dimmed a bit as she spoke and reminisced of her dad when she was little.  “Then when a slow song came on that he liked my sister and I would often just listen to him serenade our mom or us.  I miss that.”  She looked back to me, vulnerable and so beautiful right at that moment.

“But I’m really not any good.  I just like to do it for me.”  I tried to say this in the nicest way possible.  “I don’t care” her face lit up again at the continued challenge of getting me to do what she wanted.  “You have to.  My dad wasn’t good either.  It was about the fun.  Joe won’t sing, ever, so you have to.”  My expression changed from wonder to confused, “who’s Joe?”  “Joe is my fiance” she said.

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a fiance.”

“Why would you” she said, the smirk appearing again.  “Yeah, I guess if I never asked how would I know?”  I looked down, almost embarrassed that I asked at all.  I tried another tactic to get out of the singing for her, “but when would I even be able to sing?”

“I guess you’ll have to take me somewhere for lunch sometime if you only do it in your car.”  She popped up from leaning on the desk.  “Next week” she grinned.

Its as if she had been planning this the whole time.  I sat amazed and dizzy from her getting me to take her out to lunch without even knowing it.  She waved as she left and pranced out triumphantly.  I looked down at my desk and thought to myself “fuck…”  I decided to put it off until tomorrow and head home.  I didn’t want to tell her I was going to see my girlfriend in LA this weekend.  Enne doesn’t know about her and I was starting to think I wanted to keep it that way.

for another time:  I’ve always thought that a certain someone doesn’t exist that makes you forget about everyone else.  That it was a character flaw of people, me included, that always had that wandering eye and no woman was good enough to keep its gaze.  I needed to try to focus on someone who deserved it.  I needed to put effort into making them the only one I saw, but then I met you.  I met you and I didn’t have to try anymore.I had

I had originally started this years ago.  I had a different wordpress blog that didn’t go exactly the way I wanted so I started fresh with this one.  There’s another part to this story that I haven’t found yet.  I thought I’d add it in here and when/if I find the other part maybe even continuing it at some point.

But I hate wasting writing.  I’ve done that so often.  I wanted to rescue this, even if it is very rough around the edges.

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How long can you rebound?

“Is this just a rebound then?”  She asked me.

“Of course not,” I replied instinctively, not even understanding how I was answering.

I’ve never been in such a place before, though.

Without someone who I think of so much.

Who I haven’t had for months, closer to a year than not.

I’ve never rebounded before, how long can it last?

How long can you think of someone you don’t have before you stop?

I read her notes to me with an aching smile.

I see her hand written doodles in the margins and try not to wince.

I write her again but send it to someone else begging them to tell me to stop.

The ball bounces and someone else picks it up but I can’t take my eyes off the net.

What happens at the one year anniversary of that moment?  Or the other one?

Am I still going to be standing there with my hand in the air looking at the missed shot?

How long is this going to last?

Do I even want it to end?

Ending means not thinking of her anymore.

She would be out of my mind and I could move on to someone else or at least enjoy nothing.

I don’t know if I want that though.

I’d rather continue that ache and remember her then feel nothing.

But what does that say about the rebound?

It was already gone

It’s funny to remember something so fondly that wasn’t even there at the end.

As if you’re glossing over the last few pages of a book because you want to say you finished it,

no matter how the pages are important to the story.

The end wasn’t good.  At the end there wasn’t anything there.

It was already gone.

But I keep remembering it fondly, the end.

I remember it as if I messed it up with the big bang of idiocy.

That if I hadn’t done that everything would have been fine and we would be where we always were.

It wouldn’t have.  It would have slowly devolved into something similar as to what it is now.

Not exactly, of course, but that’s just branches on the tree.

The ending in my mind isn’t what it was.

The ending was merely a bump.

It didn’t really end and wouldn’t have if I didn’t fuck it up.

No matter how much it was already over,

I can’t stop thinking I messed it up for good.

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