December 19, 2004

• Tonight is a night for wayward respite.

  
  

  I said that I wouldn’t write about you anymore

  
  

  Like a neruda poem you were a couplet whose use had been overwrought and one that I would avoid delving into. And yet, months past our supposed demise – our inability to speak on normal terms- our inability to talk at all

  
  

  I had thought to use you for a play that I was going to write but I found that when I began to compose the words – that perhaps straying into that territory was not something that I really wanted to do

  
  

  I have moved from slight infatuations with boys that I will never meet to crushes on boys who love someone else. It is not a healthy way to move past you but who ever said that I chose the healthiest route?

  
  

  What did you want me to say?

  
  

  I was never able to convey in words the emotions that you confused me with

  
  

  These orange and pear still life portraits are not enough anymore

  
  

  They are meaningless dribble that I play with, another method of bullshitting my way through my inability to accept love where it is offered and instead to play in the endless game of singality.

  
  

  It never bothered me before, this lack of a significant other – my inability to accept affection and just let it be.

  
  

  I sit and stand on the public transit systems and compose words that I never write down, they flow with a melancholy pose that I cannot transcribe

  
  

  And when I have pen and paper at my disposal I am unable to convey these images to paper

  
  

  I do not want to live this way forever

  
  

  ~

  
  

  I feel like these days circle about themselves like vultures descending upon a carrion of deceased prey.

  
  

  A murder of crows is all I need sometimes but the sky is overly crowded with songbirds migrating to fairer sights.

  • 4:43 pm
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