Sunday, 27 June 2004

Mistaken

Did you ever notice the kind of thoughts I got? Those thoughts of death, and those idle, dangerous doubts, fearsome regression, did you see them etched across my breath, the clouds of locusts that used to poor from every ill-conceived attempt at reconciliation?



Did you ever notice my distractions? The girl with a history, a story of highs and lows, casual, intermittent passions, our sliding scale of subdued longing. Self-created barriers, frosty eyes, a locked door, the barrage of tears that you never spoke about, never commented on, only resented for wasting water. You don’t drink enough. You cry too much. You don’t cry enough. You drink too much. All swelled into a bloated tureen of jealous will and angry misunderstandings.



Did you ever hear my words? Bitter agonies breast-fed by non-commital friendships, a lacking in the fabric, sociabilities forgotten or ignored. Disjointed sentences, a raised note at the end of a thinly veiled threat.



Then.



A bunch of flowers in the morning when I’m still wet from the shower, rushing to the postmat, damp towel encircling my waist.



Sorry.

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