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All roads lead to New York

November 6, 2011

We slow the car down and look at the accident on our left. Because I’m not a sociopath,  I exhibit concern. But really, all I can think is “It isn’t that bad.”

Anything short of total devastation will fail to make me wince.

It’s a thought I carry with me everyday. Who do you think you are? I have real problems. But do I? Isn’t everyone just as tied to the wheel as I am?

I know my words fail me, but maybe that’s my fault. I don’t always say what I mean. I’ve been hinting for a little while now.  My greatest strength as an academic writer is my incisiveness, my clarity. It’s something that should translate to the rest of my life, but often fails to.

What I want to say:

The gloves are off. I stay up late thinking about your hands on my body. I wish you’d come out and tell me if you have thoughts like these too. I wish you’d come out and tell me if you’ve lost interest, if it was ever there to begin with. I want you to say “you’re crazy, you’ve imagined everything”, because sometimes I think I have.

I understand, we’re working on different lives with different meanings. But I’d like to know if I’m just imagining it if I think there could be overlap some day.

Someday.

And now, all I can think is how much I wish I’d stayed on that corner with you. Made you say, fuck it being a school night…let’s take a walk. Because I’d like to walk with you for a while. A long while. I’d like to hold your hand, tell you jokes. I’d like to steal your glasses just to lick the sweat off the earpieces again. I just want to run my fingers through your hair, dig them into your shoulders.

I know what I want.

[I would like to give you what I think you don’t have the words to ask me for. I want your words. Tell me anything. Tell me everything. I’m still here waiting to listen. Do you think you’re unlovable? Why? What are your secrets? Not your desires, your secrets. Let’s leave the physicality of it all behind. Tell me what’s the last thing that made you cry. What did your mother read to you to get you to fall asleep? What do you want to be when you grow up? What isn’t working? Why? Can I fix it? Can I help you fix it?]

I want to be sated.

 

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. November 6, 2011 11:15 pm

    No comment other than, “I love you,” this week.

  2. November 6, 2011 11:48 pm

    There’s always an unrest in your posts that makes me restless — I like it because it makes me so tired.

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