We were on the bleachers in the gym—it was some pep rally. You had hair like my boyfriend. Long on one side, only more brown than black, brown eyes. I smiled. Now with a baby, a wife? In my dream, you called her, “my lover.” How bohemian. So we were on the bleachers. I looked up at you. And then?
Then we were at lunch and you ate my crusts. Didn’t you? You used to get so mad. Ignore me for a while. Sometimes we’d drive in your tiny car. You were concerned for my innocence.
In your pictures you look the same. Only there’s a little girl in your arms. When I had a headache, you’d put your hands on my head, pretend to draw it out of me. Right? And usually, everything under wraps. In my dream, you held a phone to my ear, I heard your tiny daughter calling you daddy.
Someone once told me you were a little ball of string I just wanted to unwind to see what was inside. She said when I finally got there, there might be nothing. We’d walk, your arm 'round my waist, hand on hip. When I gave you the pictures my dad took of us, you said, “Oh, were you trying to look sexy?” Sometimes, you’d turn away. That campout, again, you were mad. Still, there was breakfast.
Years later, you picked me up at the train, in the rain. Then, once again, you wanted nothing to do with me. One christmas eve, we met at the longhorn, one time we went snowboarding. You slept at my house on the couch downstairs, got a little mad cause I read the map wrong. One 4th of july you picked me up at the airport. My plane was late. Later, you came to stay, used the payphone across the street to call your girlfriend, slept on the floor, left early, came home late at night. I barely saw you that month. But one night, I layed by your side on the futon. We finally spoke. That was all. You left. I stayed, went to asia, went looking for you at your work--five years later. You called me that night, told me you’d fallen in love.
Now, it’s been five years again. In the meantime, I’ve gotten married, another useless degree. And you, you’ve fallen in love, had a baby. Your talent exploded.
You used to say you just didn’t know how to handle me.
Then we were at lunch and you ate my crusts. Didn’t you? You used to get so mad. Ignore me for a while. Sometimes we’d drive in your tiny car. You were concerned for my innocence.
In your pictures you look the same. Only there’s a little girl in your arms. When I had a headache, you’d put your hands on my head, pretend to draw it out of me. Right? And usually, everything under wraps. In my dream, you held a phone to my ear, I heard your tiny daughter calling you daddy.
Someone once told me you were a little ball of string I just wanted to unwind to see what was inside. She said when I finally got there, there might be nothing. We’d walk, your arm 'round my waist, hand on hip. When I gave you the pictures my dad took of us, you said, “Oh, were you trying to look sexy?” Sometimes, you’d turn away. That campout, again, you were mad. Still, there was breakfast.
Years later, you picked me up at the train, in the rain. Then, once again, you wanted nothing to do with me. One christmas eve, we met at the longhorn, one time we went snowboarding. You slept at my house on the couch downstairs, got a little mad cause I read the map wrong. One 4th of july you picked me up at the airport. My plane was late. Later, you came to stay, used the payphone across the street to call your girlfriend, slept on the floor, left early, came home late at night. I barely saw you that month. But one night, I layed by your side on the futon. We finally spoke. That was all. You left. I stayed, went to asia, went looking for you at your work--five years later. You called me that night, told me you’d fallen in love.
Now, it’s been five years again. In the meantime, I’ve gotten married, another useless degree. And you, you’ve fallen in love, had a baby. Your talent exploded.
You used to say you just didn’t know how to handle me.
Wait, this is the one that became three lines? There are some other ones that should be included. Want me to email you ideas?
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