iLoveYouWithaKnife
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Mar 30, 2002
- Messages
- 8,351
The last time I counted
depending on which way
I drove
He was six states away.
But even further more,
his memory was faded
because he made himself scarce.
I guess I did too.
There'd be the occasional
It's been too long...
email where promises
to keep in touch
seemed real...
But with the blink of an eye
another year would go by
and the It's been too long...
email would surface again
in my inbox.
I stopped typing when
he'd stop replying
because you can't make
a friend keep you
up-to-date.
Maybe because
everything changed.
It seems like centuries
ago since we sat
in the whore room
in his mom's attic
and the yellow christmas
light shone orange
against the walls...
and we'd leave it at that
because we never could
come to an agreement
on what color they really were.
When we first met,
he went away.
I would get these
hand written letters-
pages and pages-
and postcards-
and I replied to every one.
And when he came home
we were
the best of friends.
But there was this
ever so tradgic
epic tale that happened
one night in DC.
Where I resigned
being his friend
for a good reason.
To benefit a situation.
That only three people
would understand.
He thought it was
the dumbest idea-
but it was the only
thing I could come up with
So I didn't have to
get in the way.
I knew we'd talk again
because nothing can
come in-between
two friends-
except for hundreds of miles
and saga after saga
that seems so unimportant
after faces and feelings
and memories fade.
But this is all part
of the plan
where time and time
again we lose touch
and forget about all
the adolencent drama
because we grew up,
right?
Isn't that what we
were suppose to do?
And silly memories of
girlfriends in football helmets
and the first time
I went to Philadelphia
and the huge house
with little kittens
and little sisters
wanting attention
and postcards and
pictures and letters
with hopes for better days-
would all stay packed away
in a corner of my mind or
in a corner in my closet
stuffed in a box,
so I'd never forget
when my mind would get old
and everything would
seem so faded and distant.
There's a paper trail
that leads back to my youth
and leads me back to you
sitting on the couch
watching static on the tv,
where the only thing we
thought about was
where do we go now?
depending on which way
I drove
He was six states away.
But even further more,
his memory was faded
because he made himself scarce.
I guess I did too.
There'd be the occasional
It's been too long...
email where promises
to keep in touch
seemed real...
But with the blink of an eye
another year would go by
and the It's been too long...
email would surface again
in my inbox.
I stopped typing when
he'd stop replying
because you can't make
a friend keep you
up-to-date.
Maybe because
everything changed.
It seems like centuries
ago since we sat
in the whore room
in his mom's attic
and the yellow christmas
light shone orange
against the walls...
and we'd leave it at that
because we never could
come to an agreement
on what color they really were.
When we first met,
he went away.
I would get these
hand written letters-
pages and pages-
and postcards-
and I replied to every one.
And when he came home
we were
the best of friends.
But there was this
ever so tradgic
epic tale that happened
one night in DC.
Where I resigned
being his friend
for a good reason.
To benefit a situation.
That only three people
would understand.
He thought it was
the dumbest idea-
but it was the only
thing I could come up with
So I didn't have to
get in the way.
I knew we'd talk again
because nothing can
come in-between
two friends-
except for hundreds of miles
and saga after saga
that seems so unimportant
after faces and feelings
and memories fade.
But this is all part
of the plan
where time and time
again we lose touch
and forget about all
the adolencent drama
because we grew up,
right?
Isn't that what we
were suppose to do?
And silly memories of
girlfriends in football helmets
and the first time
I went to Philadelphia
and the huge house
with little kittens
and little sisters
wanting attention
and postcards and
pictures and letters
with hopes for better days-
would all stay packed away
in a corner of my mind or
in a corner in my closet
stuffed in a box,
so I'd never forget
when my mind would get old
and everything would
seem so faded and distant.
There's a paper trail
that leads back to my youth
and leads me back to you
sitting on the couch
watching static on the tv,
where the only thing we
thought about was
where do we go now?
