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Bluelighter
4 March 2008 (from a journal)
For Michele
While it took over a year to post this here, it took half my lifetime to write it.
I want to write about the last time I saw you. December 1993, I think.
I remember driving you back to your aunt's house, or maybe it was your Gran's, I don't remember. I just remember how our houses were basically in the woods back in those days, yours was tall trees and a long road, which was nothing more than tire tracks that had worn away the grass.
I think you were staying with your folks in a cottage on the property, I think, I don't know, I just don't remember.
All I remember was that is was dark and I could see you through the kitchen window, crying. Blond hair, blue eyes, white jersey, blue jeans. Christ that combination still does something to me even these days, even after so long. Fortunately for me I had dark woods and a long worn road to hide my tears.
I wanted to tell you that I missed you, like hell. I want to tell you now that we were just stupid kids then, that we never really said how we felt, or said anything really, about how we treated each other, the hurt that now i can barely touch, understand or even remember. I hardly remember anything from those days. I do remember missing you, a lot.
I remember lying with you, how warm and safe I felt, how we shut the world out like those poems we were fed in school, how right those poets were. I want to tell you that missing you was probably my undoing in life, or maybe just keeping quiet about it was the real problem. We never really told each other how we felt, or how we hurt ourselves, did we?
I wanted you to know that even though I barely remember any of it, I still remember leaving you crying at the window that night, you were on a plane the next day back to your home across the ocean, and I, well, that's not too important now, I'm trying to let those memories die, like ones I have left of you, even though I never wanted them to. Funny how I can remember walking through rows of houses looking for dogs that got more attention that I did, the ground on fire around me, but I cannot remember the way you smell, although I remember I loved it. A lot.
I think in all of this I just wanted to say, that in all the abuse I have suffered, in all the deceit and self interest, all the fights and the heartbreak, and mostly in the realisation that the person I was with was just not, and would never be, the one. I am thankful that you and I were stupid fucking kids, lost in each others arms, not talking or sharing our hurt or what we did to each other. I am thankful through my tears, that I left you with yours that night, and that all I have left of you is this handful of memories mostly good, and a vague, vague recollection of that warm safe place we found in each others arms.
I am glad that I never had to find out you weren't the one.
And that is the way I would like to keep it.
I just wanted to write this, because I hardly write these days, and I wanted to tell you that I saw you crying at the window, and I was crying too.
For Michele
While it took over a year to post this here, it took half my lifetime to write it.
I want to write about the last time I saw you. December 1993, I think.
I remember driving you back to your aunt's house, or maybe it was your Gran's, I don't remember. I just remember how our houses were basically in the woods back in those days, yours was tall trees and a long road, which was nothing more than tire tracks that had worn away the grass.
I think you were staying with your folks in a cottage on the property, I think, I don't know, I just don't remember.
All I remember was that is was dark and I could see you through the kitchen window, crying. Blond hair, blue eyes, white jersey, blue jeans. Christ that combination still does something to me even these days, even after so long. Fortunately for me I had dark woods and a long worn road to hide my tears.
I wanted to tell you that I missed you, like hell. I want to tell you now that we were just stupid kids then, that we never really said how we felt, or said anything really, about how we treated each other, the hurt that now i can barely touch, understand or even remember. I hardly remember anything from those days. I do remember missing you, a lot.
I remember lying with you, how warm and safe I felt, how we shut the world out like those poems we were fed in school, how right those poets were. I want to tell you that missing you was probably my undoing in life, or maybe just keeping quiet about it was the real problem. We never really told each other how we felt, or how we hurt ourselves, did we?
I wanted you to know that even though I barely remember any of it, I still remember leaving you crying at the window that night, you were on a plane the next day back to your home across the ocean, and I, well, that's not too important now, I'm trying to let those memories die, like ones I have left of you, even though I never wanted them to. Funny how I can remember walking through rows of houses looking for dogs that got more attention that I did, the ground on fire around me, but I cannot remember the way you smell, although I remember I loved it. A lot.
I think in all of this I just wanted to say, that in all the abuse I have suffered, in all the deceit and self interest, all the fights and the heartbreak, and mostly in the realisation that the person I was with was just not, and would never be, the one. I am thankful that you and I were stupid fucking kids, lost in each others arms, not talking or sharing our hurt or what we did to each other. I am thankful through my tears, that I left you with yours that night, and that all I have left of you is this handful of memories mostly good, and a vague, vague recollection of that warm safe place we found in each others arms.
I am glad that I never had to find out you weren't the one.
And that is the way I would like to keep it.
I just wanted to write this, because I hardly write these days, and I wanted to tell you that I saw you crying at the window, and I was crying too.
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