fools like me
Here’s a confession I don’t let slip very often; I actually, sort of, kinda miss you. I know there’s nothing much to actually hold on to and that this disclosure can be borderline creepy, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to get you out of my mind.
I remember times when I thought that everything was so surreal, like I was living out a dream, too good to be true, and that I’d surely wake up any moment. But then I’d look to my side and you’d be there laughing at the kind of songs I had in my iPod or talking about one of your trips to some exotic corner of the world and I’d say to myself, holymutherfuckinghell, this could really be happening.
A big part of me thinks that all of that doesn’t matter anyway. It wasn’t anything. And that I should just stop because I’m doing it all over again - putting together moments in my head and turning it into the movie I really wanted it to be. But then I look at those moments and I get this faint feeling that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t nothing. Like that first night out, when a light shower fell while we were walking back to the car and little drops of rain settled on your forehead and eyelashes. Or that time your allergies hit really bad and you curled up beneath my sweater and slept quietly all the way to your place. Or that other time, when I fumbled about on the ice rink while you just glided ahead, your thoughts lost in the cool mist and whatever it was that bothered you that day. Then you turned, suddenly aware of how far ahead you’d gone, and smiled at me through the crowd.
I guess there are too many maybes in this story. The best thing to do is probably to cut clean and take whatever I can with me. But forgive me if I just want to sit here for a little while and picture how things were. You just clearly made quite an impression on me.
I remember times when I thought that everything was so surreal, like I was living out a dream, too good to be true, and that I’d surely wake up any moment. But then I’d look to my side and you’d be there laughing at the kind of songs I had in my iPod or talking about one of your trips to some exotic corner of the world and I’d say to myself, holymutherfuckinghell, this could really be happening.
A big part of me thinks that all of that doesn’t matter anyway. It wasn’t anything. And that I should just stop because I’m doing it all over again - putting together moments in my head and turning it into the movie I really wanted it to be. But then I look at those moments and I get this faint feeling that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t nothing. Like that first night out, when a light shower fell while we were walking back to the car and little drops of rain settled on your forehead and eyelashes. Or that time your allergies hit really bad and you curled up beneath my sweater and slept quietly all the way to your place. Or that other time, when I fumbled about on the ice rink while you just glided ahead, your thoughts lost in the cool mist and whatever it was that bothered you that day. Then you turned, suddenly aware of how far ahead you’d gone, and smiled at me through the crowd.
I guess there are too many maybes in this story. The best thing to do is probably to cut clean and take whatever I can with me. But forgive me if I just want to sit here for a little while and picture how things were. You just clearly made quite an impression on me.