Just a story. Not good, but it is what it is.
I can't believe you remember all my answers.
I didn't put much faith in you. I thought you'd be the standard guy.
You'd put just enough effort into the relationship to get what you wanted, and it would end. Hit it and quit it.
But you stuck around. I told you about movies I watched as a child and the obscure parts I remember from them. It was the little things that got me about you. You have the worst memory for some things, but you seemed to remember every word that left my mouth.
You showed up at my house one Saturday because you were "in the neighborhood." You live 5 miles away and your mother can't stand driving farther than the grocery store 100 yards from your house. I saw your bike behind the mailbox.
That was such a fun day. It was Valentine's day, which I guess you realized, but neither of us acknowledged out loud because of what cliche things we may say to spoil all the fun we were having.
We rode around town and I bought a giant black permanent marker and we went to the train tracks where we wrote our favorite quotes across the sleek silver metal.
That night you came over and we made s'mores in the fireplace in my living room. We were going to build one outside but there was a wind advisory so my parents told me there was no way.
But I was shy and you were shy and nothing ever came of our friendship. No soft kisses, no longer than normal hugs, no professing our love and admiration for each other drunkenly one night.
Nothing.
So time passed and we moved on. And in our bitterness to each other we stopped talking.
Until recently I found myself in a car with you, taking you home after a day at school. And you told me how insane your relationship was with your girl and you asked for my advice on how to end it. And we talked about cigarettes and booze and pot and music.
We've always talked a lot about music. Frankly, we have the best taste in music of anybody I know.
So we've fallen back into this game of "I love you but I can't tell you because of what it would do."
I hate this game. I'd rather throw it and beg for your love, forgiveness, friendship.
Words by kgirard
Read 643 times
Written on 2009-03-20 at 02:56
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Valentines
I knew you loved me when you asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up. What my fears were. What my dreams were. What my hates were. Aspirations. Secrets. Favorites.I can't believe you remember all my answers.
I didn't put much faith in you. I thought you'd be the standard guy.
You'd put just enough effort into the relationship to get what you wanted, and it would end. Hit it and quit it.
But you stuck around. I told you about movies I watched as a child and the obscure parts I remember from them. It was the little things that got me about you. You have the worst memory for some things, but you seemed to remember every word that left my mouth.
You showed up at my house one Saturday because you were "in the neighborhood." You live 5 miles away and your mother can't stand driving farther than the grocery store 100 yards from your house. I saw your bike behind the mailbox.
That was such a fun day. It was Valentine's day, which I guess you realized, but neither of us acknowledged out loud because of what cliche things we may say to spoil all the fun we were having.
We rode around town and I bought a giant black permanent marker and we went to the train tracks where we wrote our favorite quotes across the sleek silver metal.
That night you came over and we made s'mores in the fireplace in my living room. We were going to build one outside but there was a wind advisory so my parents told me there was no way.
But I was shy and you were shy and nothing ever came of our friendship. No soft kisses, no longer than normal hugs, no professing our love and admiration for each other drunkenly one night.
Nothing.
So time passed and we moved on. And in our bitterness to each other we stopped talking.
Until recently I found myself in a car with you, taking you home after a day at school. And you told me how insane your relationship was with your girl and you asked for my advice on how to end it. And we talked about cigarettes and booze and pot and music.
We've always talked a lot about music. Frankly, we have the best taste in music of anybody I know.
So we've fallen back into this game of "I love you but I can't tell you because of what it would do."
I hate this game. I'd rather throw it and beg for your love, forgiveness, friendship.
Words by kgirard
Read 643 times
Written on 2009-03-20 at 02:56
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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