05 November 2004

Untitled

I remember that poem I wrote when I was pissed off. No. In love. I thought I was in love. I wanted so badly to be in love that I wanted to write a poem about it. I wanted to be mysterious. I wanted you to wonder what I was doing.

It worked. I left a message just cyptic enough to get your attention. You bit, which is what I wanted. Later I wanted you to be pissed off. But at the time, I just wanted you to want me. That worked too. For a while.

Meeting you was like meeting the part of me that I always wanted to fight with. Only, instead of fighting, I wanted to make peace. I so desperately wanted to put that part of me to rest. So I dived right in.

Do you remember when we met? I do, but just barely. I remember looking at your friend that night, and thinking, "How old is he? Is he younger? He must be younger." But he's not the one who invited me out. You were.

Then there was that song. It haunted me. But it wasn't the song, it was you singing the song. You wanted me to like the song. Even though I'm not sure I heard the words.

I took a chance.

You were the only person who saw that poem. You asked me to write out a copy after I e-mailed it to you. I lost it, and now that one piece of me is floating out there in your world. I'll never get it back.

Remember when we'd go for coffee? We'd sit in that Tim Horton's for hours. I think maybe you talked more than me. You liked to talk. You liked to hook people. I remember how it made me feel like I was special, like you were letting me in on a secret that you only told certain people. Maybe you did. Or maybe that's what you wanted me to believe. And I wanted to believe it too. I wanted to believe that it was all I wanted. So I did.

And that's what landed me here.

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