30 June, 2012

But in time, we all forgot and we all grew.

The mental image of him in the distance, papers in hand, and a backpack slung over one shoulder. The fraction of a smile aimed in my direction and the feeling that I hadn't been reduced to shivers. Him sitting, then standing, then walking away with just a two-fingered salute to service a goodbye. That film on replay as I stood by the crack of the door, peering in as they kept each other warm by a fire only they could feel.

The mental image of her, trudging through the hallways, dragging her feet, soaked from the downpour and smiling all the while at all the no one's paying attention. The offer of a friendship shot in my direction and a nagging feeling that she would leave me bare. Her mumbling, then laughing, then talking our time away in a waste of well-allotted time. That film on replay as I missed her breathing, dreaming in a room as vacant and as solitary as I always wished I'd never be.


Us on an index card?
We're a bit unstructured and vague, and lined and charted and drawn, but not really. We're distant, but only to an extent; and vulnerable, but only enough to be friends. We're there, but only by a finger.

Us on an index card?
 We're folded and our creases are rather worn, and the edges are a bit frayed. We've been in each other's pockets too many times. We're the back-up back-pocket dynamic that gets pulled out when there's not enough entertainment to pass the time, and no other shoulders to soak up the restless.

Title: Folkin' Around - P!ATD

19 June, 2012

maybe married to the idea of not.

There's something about something slight, isn't there? Something about someone quite and quiet, and gentle, and despite. And he was. He never said anything, so much so that it compelled you to be good -- how could you be anything else to someone so permitting

It's the little things, really. It's what he wears on his wrists and how he tilts his head, and the way he semi-smiles and awkwardly laughs with you -- all the uncertain agreement that comes with the company. It's in the way he wears his shirts and the unknowing; there's an unintentional charm shadowed in that. All the cringes and crumples his mouth made. 

You kind of just want to build him a cave, a safe little corner in the midst of the noise of everything else. Push the world away; come sleep in my arms, I will gladly have you. Play host to a guest that will ask for nothing more than bits and pieces of you. And out of sheer consideration, you will give all you have. 

+++

These people are real, right? It's not just me conjuring up some imaginary population of people? Come closer, let me see. That's okay, we'll fix you up in a bit. Come sit your tired soul and sleep awhile.