Wednesday, April 03, 2002
Lost
She sits quietly in her little world. She so desparately wants to talk to him. She is angry with him, that he doesn't speak to her. It's not that she loves him, she knows full well that she's only infatuated with him. He is pretty. No, it goes deeper than that. She considered him a good friend and now he doesn't even have the time of day for her. That makes her angry. It leaves her feeling down, deeply depressed. He is a lot like her, and in fact, if she had done any of the dumb things that she threatened to in childhood, she probably would have ended up like him. She is grateful for the path she chose. He is her in the parallel universe that exists in her head. But then he cares not to talk with her. He does not understand that she misses him greatly. He does not understand that she cares, that she wishes him good luck. He does not understand her concern over him, a concern for a friend. All of this misunderstanding angers her. She is not in love with him. She just cares, that's all. Like she cares about countless other people. Yeah, she thinks he's pretty, but that's a moot point since she is sure that he does not like her in the same way. She almost cries about it. So she writes poetry instead. So she drinks instead. And she'd rather cuddle up to his warm body than the guy at the end of the bar, but the guy at the end of the bar is there, he's talking to her, and she knows who he is. If she doesn't, at least someone knows him enough to give her information on him. She is sad without her counterpart. She wants to tell him everything, but she can't, she doesn't have the courage to explain it to him. She's afraid that he'll run away. Or, at least, she was afraid that he'd run away. Since he's already abandoned her, she feels that now is the time to tell him. Too late, some would say, but she prefers it that way. She already has proof that he's gone, if she sees him one last time, well, then would be the right moment to tell him how she feels. And then he'll run away again and at least she'll take comfort that the loose ends were tied up. She doesn't care if he has any feelings for her. She never has cared about that. All he did was listen. That's all she wanted. But since he's stopped listening, it is time to get it over with. This will be the final straw, she is sure; he will never speak to her again after she tells him. She sighs...if only he'd show up, she thinks. She doesn't have much time left before her courage runs low again.
The door opens slowly. Is she lucky enough? Could it be him?....
She sits quietly in her little world. She so desparately wants to talk to him. She is angry with him, that he doesn't speak to her. It's not that she loves him, she knows full well that she's only infatuated with him. He is pretty. No, it goes deeper than that. She considered him a good friend and now he doesn't even have the time of day for her. That makes her angry. It leaves her feeling down, deeply depressed. He is a lot like her, and in fact, if she had done any of the dumb things that she threatened to in childhood, she probably would have ended up like him. She is grateful for the path she chose. He is her in the parallel universe that exists in her head. But then he cares not to talk with her. He does not understand that she misses him greatly. He does not understand that she cares, that she wishes him good luck. He does not understand her concern over him, a concern for a friend. All of this misunderstanding angers her. She is not in love with him. She just cares, that's all. Like she cares about countless other people. Yeah, she thinks he's pretty, but that's a moot point since she is sure that he does not like her in the same way. She almost cries about it. So she writes poetry instead. So she drinks instead. And she'd rather cuddle up to his warm body than the guy at the end of the bar, but the guy at the end of the bar is there, he's talking to her, and she knows who he is. If she doesn't, at least someone knows him enough to give her information on him. She is sad without her counterpart. She wants to tell him everything, but she can't, she doesn't have the courage to explain it to him. She's afraid that he'll run away. Or, at least, she was afraid that he'd run away. Since he's already abandoned her, she feels that now is the time to tell him. Too late, some would say, but she prefers it that way. She already has proof that he's gone, if she sees him one last time, well, then would be the right moment to tell him how she feels. And then he'll run away again and at least she'll take comfort that the loose ends were tied up. She doesn't care if he has any feelings for her. She never has cared about that. All he did was listen. That's all she wanted. But since he's stopped listening, it is time to get it over with. This will be the final straw, she is sure; he will never speak to her again after she tells him. She sighs...if only he'd show up, she thinks. She doesn't have much time left before her courage runs low again.
The door opens slowly. Is she lucky enough? Could it be him?....
