Accompanies: This
When you asked me to go out with friends yesterday, I meant to say no. If indeed I had said what I meant, it would have sounded something like this: "No. I am busy. Busy with myself. Go away." It's an abrading truth unlawfully spoken between friends. And we've been friends for many years. But somehow, like a plant that's never moved to a larger pot, our relationship has failed to take deep root. And tonight, the rains have come. They washed you out from me - our meager connection growing along the topsoil. Laws don't apply to what doesn't truly exist.
Today I woke up to the total absence of care. I'm saved from tending to us. I'm sure the weeds will return, but for now, I'm clean.
When you called and asked me how I was, I said, "fine." I meant what I said. But, I heard it in your voice. That wasn't what you were asking. If you had said what you meant, it probably would have sounded something like: "I wish I had you back with me. I want to crawl into your warm nest of dirty jokes, that unfettered, irresponsible hole filled with anarchy and fire. It's cold out here." We've been acquainted for many years. I can tell what you say under your breath, the words that are dubbed over. I can hear bitter desperation in the echoes of your pleasantries.
I just won't feel the world for you, anymore. It's a simple fact that I've been rinsed, and you've been buried. I didn't intend it. But one of us chose to live.
When you asked me to go out with friends yesterday, I meant to say no. If indeed I had said what I meant, it would have sounded something like this: "No. I am busy. Busy with myself. Go away." It's an abrading truth unlawfully spoken between friends. And we've been friends for many years. But somehow, like a plant that's never moved to a larger pot, our relationship has failed to take deep root. And tonight, the rains have come. They washed you out from me - our meager connection growing along the topsoil. Laws don't apply to what doesn't truly exist.
Today I woke up to the total absence of care. I'm saved from tending to us. I'm sure the weeds will return, but for now, I'm clean.
When you called and asked me how I was, I said, "fine." I meant what I said. But, I heard it in your voice. That wasn't what you were asking. If you had said what you meant, it probably would have sounded something like: "I wish I had you back with me. I want to crawl into your warm nest of dirty jokes, that unfettered, irresponsible hole filled with anarchy and fire. It's cold out here." We've been acquainted for many years. I can tell what you say under your breath, the words that are dubbed over. I can hear bitter desperation in the echoes of your pleasantries.
I just won't feel the world for you, anymore. It's a simple fact that I've been rinsed, and you've been buried. I didn't intend it. But one of us chose to live.
No comments:
Post a Comment