What I Did Not Tell You And Do Not Intend To

“Do you remember that day you fell out of my window?”
“I sure do, you came jumping out after me.”
“Well, you fell on the concrete
and nearly broke your ass
and you were bleeding all over the place
and I rushed you off to the hospital.
Do you remember that?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, there’s something
I never told you about that night.”
“What didn’t you tell me?”
“While you were sitting in the backseat
smoking a cigarette you thought
was going to be your last,
I was falling deep, deeply in love with you
and I never told you ’til just now.”
“Now I know.””

There wasn’t a moment of stillness when I realized how much I felt for you.There wasn’t any Regina Spektor playing softly in the background.There wasn’t an intricate close up to your smiling eyes.There wasn’t any fireworks.It was just a moment,and that’s that.No one will make a big deal out of it.And I wondered what did it feel like when it happened to you on her.Was Mogwai playing in your head?Did you picture when she lay on your shoulder,you didn’t mind your subclavian veins being compressed because you’d die happy?Tell me,how did you feel.Did you see it coming that when you two are finally together,it would be an endless system of monotony?

You were the white hospital blankets for a hypothermic patient,but now you are the cold to the rain.You were that 90’s top 40 hit song that brings back feelings that I thought I have forgotten about my short lived childhood,but now you are the nasal autotuned voice manipulated by capitalism that makes me turn the radio off and  rather drive silent.You are now the itch of the roof of my mouth that I can’t get rid of no matter how much I scrape it with my tongue.

And to think I wrote poetry about you,to think how I was charmed by your underdog attitude,to think how I pondered on how you told me you’d rather study about black holes than why humans hurt humans.To think of the times when you told me “I’m here for you.” Let me tell you something.You are not.I have never felt so detached from you before,you are as foreign as a dead person is to an alive one.This sentence “I’m here for you” sounds so foreign to me,like how when you say “bowl” too many times,until you don’t even know what a bowl is anymore.To think how you treated me like particles of photographed dust when religious people thought they were deities.All in all,I only meant that much to you.So much,yet so very very little.

I watched Perks Of Being A Wallflower today.Someone there said,”You only accept the love you think you deserve.”

I accepted the “disillusioned deity of a photographed particle of dust” love from you.And I took it all into every inch of my heart.I guess I could really say,I loved you.I really did.After all,you were white hospital blankets of a hypothermic patient to me.And after all,I did write poetry about you.

No one really understands this,they can put their hand on the dent of my shoulder and nod and say “I get it.” But they really do not. I do not know when I will stop feeling for you,I guess I will stop someday.And that someday won’t be a moment of stillness.There won’t be any Echo And The Bunnymen  playing softly in the background.There wasn’t an intricate close up to my relieve eyes.There won’t be any fireworks.It was just a moment,and that’s that.No one will make a big deal out of it. Except for me.


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