It's quite ironic that the bracelet broke on the day that I saw you. It's quite ironic that I had a backup ready at hand upon my return. Why didn't I just leave it off? Why didn't I just let my wrist be free of it's reminders of so many things? It would've been fine without it. It still had a resident with my silver chain. Why did I have to return it to it's proper place? I've asked that question 100 million times. No answer. Just like the billion words that are sitting in wait to be exchanged between the two of us, but does it matter anymore? Maybe they're better served laid to rest.
If I could get paid for thinking about it, I could purchase countries. I could
outbid empires. Procure half the world. If I could tell you how difficult it is to actually address it, I could withstand all measures of dissolution. But it's rather important for me to deny my recidivist nature. You know this all too well.
It seems to be like a rusty mailbox. You open it up to see if there's anything new in there. To see if a delivery of sorts occurred. You already know what's in that mailbox because you looked inside of it for so long, but you wander if there's something divergent waiting to be removed and opened. I don't know how either perspective glanced, but the box was opened. My stomach dropped when I saw you. Hazy and blurred, but feverish and intense...like always.
Normally a tryst like this would've punched my ticket to depression, but there's something different this time. Something unfamiliar and blank. It doesn't hold that same old sting. I watched you drive off, and then went on about my day. Figuring I'd figure as much out if I didn't try to figure it out. It worked. Time and again, we try to outdraw each other and be the first to touch off a shot. But I don't want my gun anymore.
I can see you in your twilight. A woman looking back on her life and the places, people, and situations she's touched and those that touched her. That nice boy you knew in your youth. The one who always had the nicest things to say to you. Your reminiscent approval or dissatisfaction of my actions and movements.
If I'm not careful I can convince myself to fall in love with you again. I used to think we were just alike in certain regards, but now I see that we couldn't be more different.
God, I pray my last words aren't your name.
"Untie me, I've said no vow..."
3 comments:
You shall forget these things, toiling in the household,
You shall remember them, droning by the fire,
When age and forgetfulness sweeten memory
Only like a dream that has often been told
And often been changed in the telling. They will seem unreal.
Human kind cannot bear very much reality.
--ts eliot. (rachel)
you will ALWAYS have my love. always. c
And you will ALWAYS have mine. I ruin before I create.
It's my way. And I think your's too. I know.
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