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By JD Date: 2004 Jun 05 Comment on this Work [[2004.06.05.00.19.32383]] |
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I received an email from you, saying that everything reminds you of me. When it rains, you remember the time when we went to church three times on one rainy Sunday, in search of a mass, which is weird because now, I'm not the slightest bit religious. Tell me, what do you tell your girlfriend when you get that faraway look in your eyes every time it rains? Does she know about that rainy Sunday, when you grabbed my hand during the Our Father, and I thought I was going to collapse right there on the wooden pew? You say that random love songs remind you of me. Funny, they remind me of you, too. I remember the night before I left. It was two in the morning and we were about to head home when you see a portable kareoke player right outside the club. You sang "Leaving on a Jet Plane" of all songs. And then you cried, right there, with our friends gaping at you. I don't think you even finished the song. But it was nice because I've never had anyone serenade me that way before- or at least tried to. So tell me, what do you tell your girlfriend when that song comes on the radio and your body just tenses up, and you can't even breathe because you're reminded of how hard we were both crying? So now, years later, thousands of miles away, I read your email, and remember all the things I left behind. And I am reminded that the world isn't big enough for the both of us. There is no escaping the memories, no escaping the history. It rains over here, too. I hear that song on the radio all the time. But I cannot think of you. I cannot remember you. I don't want to. Maybe it's because I'm afraid of all the other memories that may come pouring in if I allow myself one moment of indulgence. Or maybe it's because I've really moved on. Either way, every email I receive from you always seems to fuck me up. So stop e-mailing me this way- or else I'm going to have to block you from my list. |