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By chris Date: 2008 Nov 24 Comment on this Work [[2008.11.24.22.58.8539]] |
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Since you won't read this I guess I can say anything, right? Funny how I suddenly have nothing to say. I fucked up. There. I said it. Now let's move on, OK? I miss your calls after a night at the Barley Room with your friends - predictable like no rain for weeks at a time here in Nuevo Mexico. Predictable like rain that won't stop. Two beers and you believed you might be able to love me. Maybe. I miss your mixed messages and mixed metaphors. I miss those arguments that I knew I could talk my way out of. No more talking my way out of anything now, is there? I'm sorry I said that a dislike of chicken - more or less - was the only thing we had in common. That was a lie, of course. In my defense I have to say there weren't too many other lies. You were easy to tell the truth to. Too easy - so I told you too much. I miss the way your brown skin looked against red rock and blue sky. I miss the blue sky with you under it. Cuban restaurants will never be the same for me. (For one thing.) Good thing I live in Burque, right? My friends say I should write you a letter. I laughed at them. But who's laughing now? If you are, I sure as hell can't hear it. I should be so lucky. |