unspoken regrets

it's not so easy to make up words

when you're falling at the feet

of the worst days of your life.

...ran into the first girl to break my heart the other day as i do from time to time, since we work in the same town. felt the scar that is left from that whole ordeal split wide open and yawn its way back to a festering, sucking chest wound when i realized who it was as we approached. just because there is a scar doesn't mean that i've healed. i'm almost positive that the symptoms of completely hopeless nervousness were outwardly visible and absolutely obvious. i'm a schmuck. i dated this girl many moons ago and have all but erased her from my everyday consciousness.

i see her.

square one.

i'm reduced to a yammering imbecile. still.

she wrote every sort of wonderful thing about me and to me and for a long damn time i was enthralled. one black monday all was changed. not only do i keep all of the stuff she wrote me, but the note (yes, the NOTE) she wrote as a signal of the demise of our relationship, read: breakup, holds a special and sacred place among all of the pieces of paper in that drawer of the filing cabinet of my ever-distant high school life. it can only be taken as a worst-case-scenario when you recieve a letter from a girlfriend and the first line reads, "this note is going to be about something i've thought about for awhile." awhile is underlined.

panic strikes.

pain ascends up from the butterfly-afflicted stomach to the hands, head, limbs...

back up.

...this is a letter with a preamble: WE THE PEOPLE of the united state of this relationship, in order to dissolve a formerly perfect union, disestablish justice, insure the lack of domestic tranquility........blablabla...

things blur when you realize that you're reading about your relationship in the past tense.

and people think I'M vague, but there is nothing more vague than a girl trying to let you down easy.

when the phrase, "it's not your fault." makes its presence known more than once, that's very bad. i think i began to write what i have been known to erroneously call poetry (and what amounts to a pah-thetic farce of the afforementioned literary style) as a direct result of the reception of that note on that day.

black monday.

everyone who has ever had to read one or more of my bad, awful poems can direct their disdain towards her. and the list is not as short as it should be.

bla

so, every time i run into her, every word, every retarded passion play i have ever trudged through, every single twinge of guilt and resentment and pining and bewilderment comes flooding back. i am a martyr. she is my simon, passing the cross of emotion mightily upon my scourged back with a simple glance. she is the type who makes you forget all types. when she sees me, she hugs me and says she has missed me and she means it. you don't "hang out" with this girl, you bask as if sunbathing. we idly talk and i stumble for words. she does not feign interest. she is genuinely interested. all of the emotions which i mentioned come back all at once. all at once i can no longer relate to them. they exist only for a split fleeting second and are gone. like the elements created in a supercollider, they are only detectable by the hint that they were there.

she has freckles in her eyes. she has dark green eyes with freckles like tiny pupils peppered around her iris. and orange. orange sometimes flares around her pupil like it's hiding somethng. like a solar eclipse surrounded by coronal blasts, solar storms...

"i try to explain myself, it's just hard. it's not your fault. well, i won't drag on any longer."

*CRACK* like an unfocused thud to the side of your head. even worse when you don't see it coming.

i didn't sleep or function on what could be considered a "normal" level for weeks.

and why will it never be possible for us to get back together? she's almost as crazy as i am. sometimes, methinks, moreso. a situation like ours ruins civilizations. we're at the level of mark antony and cleoptra. either one or both of us would eventually self-destruct. relationships have to walk a fine line, and ours simply never could.

but every time i see her, it makes me think that it could.