Saturday, November 22, 2008

The Trouble

My life is not nearly as dramatic and sad as it seems when I write here. I write here when the mood strikes and oftentimes, lately, it appears, that is not a good mood. I don't like being ignored. I don't like feeling invisible. He's making me feel invisible. I am beginning to wonder if perhaps I am invisible. Kevin didn't see me last night either. Maybe I am just fading away in to oblivion and obscurity and some other o word that I don't know and never will unless I spent a little less time trying to get noticed and a little more time looking at a webster's dictionary.

The truth about the fact is, no matter what I tell almost anyone else, in the end, I will always choose John. I am still figuring out how to break this to you. I am still figuring out how you will take it. Because I like you. I think you are pretty great. Really. You are sweet.

But John has my heart, quite wholy and competely, as much as it kills me. He took without even trying, and perhaps that is wherein the trouble is.

Isn't it awful?

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Call It Off

This song reminds me of you, and how I feel about you, and how I feel about the way I feel about you.

It makes my stomach heavy.

Not as heavy as when I listen to your songs about her,

but heavy, and sick.

I won't regret saying this,

this thing,

that I'm saying.

Is it better than keeping my mouth shut?

That goes without saying.


I'm glad I have had the courage to say things that should be said. I am happy with the direction my life is moving. Perhaps though it is a lack of direction?

I don't know what I want to do.

I want to fill my life with chairs and theater and simple, beautiful music, with books and photo strips of you and me. We look good in those photos, even in the pictures that aren't that good, of either of us. We look good.

I wish there was a mathematical formula, that I could figure out, that would make it all okay for you. So you wouldn't care about the difference, between you and me, and the big difference, that I am not her.

I think about her every day. No matter how hard I try to avoid it. I think about her and the pieces of my broken heart fall at her feet and I ache.

My heart breaks for your broken heart.


That's how it goes. I will feel this way about you, and you will feel that way about her, and it will remain that way.










Maybe I woulda been something you'd be good at.
Maybe you woulda been something I'd be good at.

And when I think about this song, and how much I like it, and I listen to it, and think of everything wrong, I remember as the song ends, that it is just a song.

And My Number comes on, and it's good. My Number comes to the rescue.

It really IS a silly time to learn to swim when you start to drown.