la petite mort effect
she
walks into my room and i pretend everything is cool, like nothing ever
happened between us at all. theres no looks directly into eyes.. no
closeness no life in our violent denial. there is a foundation of hard
facts that cannot be broken apart anymore.. but it can easily be covered
with structures of impeccible misdirection. she says whats up and how
was vegas.. i stumble over my words and manage to pluck a few out of my
mouth and toss them out into the hallway where she can hear them..
fuckin awesome i say. she laughs that laugh i had grown accustom to..
rough and still .. still gold i guess you could say. and i take comfort
in my bed. .where i am the only living boy.
in
my mind and heart.. i miss her. but i hide it all away because i know we
can never be just friends.. just like we couldnt before.. and i pretend
that i dont care if she ever comes back.. and i tell everyone that i
dont care and i make the faces that go along with the selling of the
idea of not caring.. and when i get home i wonder, and worry, and think.
all the time her names letters floating around in my head like those
fireflies from so long ago, that floated almost within my reach but
still just far away so that when i moved, the wind from my very
movements would hush them away... so i put up the front to make her
believe that i may not care anymore.. in hopes that she will believe it
and turn away also. henceforth breaking my own heart... strange how
that can happen isnt it? it is no strange feeling to me.. i may not have
invented it.. but im sure i streamlined the process into fewer steps..
thats freakin economy for ya.
. la petite mort
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