Thursday, February 2, 2006

   Bleak
I am living in a mystery, an old detective movie. I am not the star, not even remotely important. An extra in the story of our love. At the first episode, I held some weight. My character held the keys to every answer. Now I have taken second place to the hustlers, bartenders, and philosophers. They hold the words, the drinks, and your every moment. I am left upstairs in a closet, to be pulled out when needed. The one come to when you need someone to take the fingerprints, when you want your shoes shineda pretty face in the bar with no value and nothing to say. My life revolves around you, the protagonistand you are beginning to feel like the antagonist. Breaking my words with silencedamaging my heart with the phonepoisoning me with assumption, when I am trying to keep from jumping to the immediate conclusion. Everyday seems to hold, to be continued when all I am wanting is for a new story to begin; a story where I hold a co-starring role next to you again.



Now I am working for you. I am there for you and hanging on your every word. My life revolves around those minutes that I am hoping to spend with you that never come. There you are, long enough to ask me a favor, then turn and leave me by myself while you give the best of you to everyone else, and all I see is the back of your sleeping form at the end of the night. I wake updo it all over again. School, work, hopefulness that is always aborted at the end of the night by the one word that steals the time. Accusations. Im the evil in your eyes. My want of just a little of your time turns my image into controlling, when all I wish is for a night together. Just one fantastic night to make my day betterto know that you care that Im there for you when you call and need something. But youre not going to understand when I try to tell you that I love you beyond reason. Youre not going to understand when I tell you that Im depressed to be left alone while youre out with everyone except for the one person who cares about you the most. Its scares me to think of the things you do to yourself. I hold so much back from you because Im afraid to hear you say those words, Youre acting like your mother. I want to feel loved, and right now I feel ignored. I feel second best. I feel backburnered. You have plenty of time for your friends. Do you have a little time for me? as Dido would have asked. What do I have to do to make myself worth coming home toby myself. I dont just want to be the person sleeping next to you when you get home after that long night. I want to be the person you look forward to seeing. I want to be worth it. I cant remember the last night you havent been drinking. I cant remember the last night I was more than a heated blanket to hold on to.

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