me, standing in my kitchen, alone, hellbent on finishing a bottle of wine, as well as the moves to the electric slide.
(check! and....check!)
and the phone rings.
things are much different now. i found your notes, cards, etc.
and i realize now that they never really held as many emotions as i thought they did.
perhaps it didn't start that cold november day, but much before on that warm august day at
lauriol plaza.
change the cast.
perfect. safe.
so safe.
but so risky.
but perhaps it was that october day.
and i've fallen head over heels. and realized, coldly, that it was just a silly dream.
a silly dream with a silly ending. and (in hindsight) a silly beginning.
that's how they all go. for me at least.
no, definitely not october.
so, i don't know why you're contacting me again now. or why you want to mend bridges. i've wasted too much of my heart on you. and i'm just frankly tired of it.
of you.
i'm tired of that smile, those messages, that history.
i won't be used. again.
i miss the idea, not the reality.