One Hundred and Eight
April 17, 2012 § Leave a comment
I am not looking for an indiscernible dispute about our lack of romance nor do I need to prove my point of view. You were never the one, and we both knew it. If feelings were hurt, we can both agree to be sorry. We can both agree to forget. Shall we concur that nothing was made of nothing or was there an imbalance of affection? I was not hoping to lead you to more; the last thing I wanted was to look to you for something greater than you could give.
When the sun set all bets seemed to be off, no one was looking, and we both laughed a little. The train tracks were quiet, the cherries were ripe, and the sky was the purest of orange. We kicked up the lawn and quietly drove around town. The music was as raw as our hearts. Time ticked by with a parade of classic cars and a couple of old men playing chess. And that was all it was, nothing more although sometimes feeling like a bit less.
If two hearts are on the table, logic should be dismissed. If one heart is on the table, the chairs should be upturned. No amount of karaoke could make me smile when you said your goodbyes. In all honesty, it wasn’t you, it was me. It was me and a past of one lame man’s excuses. Promise to love me in a different season, and I am brought right back to the place where all fear was created. I was in more pieces than you could pick up in one swoop, but it was worth a run around the bushes and two gin n’ tonics. In the end, it wasn’t you, it wasn’t me; it was a toxic combination of too much logic in your back pocket and too many scars in mine.
The apology was frustratingly late. I swore off artists, gypsies, and anyone who owned a bike. My dreams of pipe smoke, steeped tea, and a rugged porch were never dreamt. Perhaps you thought I wanted a grandiose love, but I just wanted to keep on laughing. You would have never made it to my front porch, and if so, I would not have let you stay around for long. With its rusty pipes, my heart was in no condition for you. I wanted companionship, and to this day, I am not quite sure what it was you were looking for.
Tonight we can agree to disagree. Its lack of romantic veneer is the stuff stories are made of, but most of all it is what keeps the memories worth saving. I am not afraid to remember those simple days shared. Lacking words we got by on getting along. We could have ran through a field of tall grass had we made it that far along. Instead, we were as stupid as simple could be. Instead, I can tell stories about a friend I once knew – nothing more although sometimes feeling like a little bit less.