i do not know if it is the trace of illness or the anxiety of your kiss which has dismissed any interest i had in food. my bowl of oatmeal – my morning comfort sticks in my throat and won’t go down, while my coffee, rich and bitter slides easily through, melting the build-up of years and worry and sleeplessness.
what do you do when someone you thought was a god tells you he’s been watching you almost as long as you’ve been watching him?
things happen to me in waves. i languished this past month away, throwing it off and burying myself in paint and ink and configurations of matrices. i don’t know how i got the guts to ask you to dinner. i don’t know why you agreed, or why you followed me to 4 different restaurants when place after place was closed on a dismal monday night, or why i can’t remember what your face looked like when you told me you thought i was pretty adorable too. sleep-deprived, congested and hopeful the morning next, we did not speak in class and you did not call me when you said you would. sleep-deprived, congested and unsure, i sat down beside a friend, and she reminded me that my ex-lover was due to arrive in town that night, and that he wanted us all to go to dinner. but what about your phone call? your phone call that never came?
my old lover is more affectionate than he’s been in months.
you tell me you are awkward. but are you awkward because you cannot do this to the woman living in brooklyn who’s in love with you, or because you want me too?
i went to dinner with them, but you did not call. i’m supposed to meet them again, but can i see you in class again tomorrow without having found out what’s in your mind for me? that sounds like just the strain to shatter what’s left of my delicate psyche. picking up the pieces, i called my best friend and started to tell him how much i missed him, but almost started crying, and so let him drift the conversation back away to books and lovers.
things happen to me in waves that i am never, ever ready to meet.
swim.