24 de febrero de 2011

I told myself we weren't happy...

On the couch. Dark. Quiet. 
 I wondered if I had made a terrible mistake.
 I almost reached for the phone about a thousand times. 
 I thought I could take it back, erase it, explain
 I had momentarily lost my mind. 
Then I told myself we weren't happy. 
 That was the truth. That what we were was safe. 
It was unfair to you and to me to stay 
in a relationship for that reason. 
 I thought about Clementine and the spark when I was with her
but then I thought what you and I had was real
 and adult and therefore significant even if it wasn't much fun

 But I wanted fun. I saw other people having fun and I wanted it. 
Then I thought fun is a lie, that no one is really having fun;
 I'm being suckered by advertising and movie bullshit... 
then I thought maybe not, maybe not. 
 And then I thought, as I always do at 
this point in my argument, about dying.

I projected myself to the end of my life 
in some vague rendition of my old man self. 
 I imagined looking back with a 
tremendous hole of regret in my heart.

I didn't pick up the phone to call you, Naomi
 I didn't pick up the phone.

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