This is the secret conversation

between you and me

as played out in my head

Me: What do you mean you don't like Weezer?

You: I mean I don't like Weezer. Why should I?

Me: Well, they're a great band!

You: Sure, I'll go on a date with you.

Me: Uhm....

You: Pick me up at 7?

Me: Uhm...

You: I'll be there with bells!

Me: Sure!

This is my wanting for you. For clinical depression to take wing and leave. It is myself going through the line in Taco Bell waiting for a dammed meximelt, all the while thinking your face. Thinking your features.

And all the while.

making them up as I go along.

I cannot convince myself to believe in a "soul mate" Because if I did, I would inevitably convince myself that they were dead. And I don't think I could go through that.

However, my mind continuously cycles through images and styles and personalities that befit you. That one day when I'm walking down the street I will fall so hopelessly in love with you that I shall overcome any shyness.

Unfortunately, having put this to the test previously, I never seem to be able to overcome that boundary, regardless.

I am having relapses into sad times of not seeing her anymore. Of calling her yesterday to see if I could get back my Sunny Day cd. Of her, being patient enough to listen, tone of voice.

Of my hand through chest, reaching towards vital organs. Of my only sleeping for 3 hours before showing up to work on a sunday at 4 in the morning. Of my not wanting to be here.

I am feeling insignificantly insecure right now. I am comparing my daily activities to the numerous amount of other activities that are going on in the world right now. And I am starting to believe that my 2nd grade teacher lied when she said I would make a difference.

In anything other then the depletion of oxygen? I doubt.

So on the wall still, and in chains ordered by my own hand, I await.

But at least we'll always have Weezer.

Back - Forth