Posted by: canaryinacoalmine | June 19, 2005

not

I’m not a concept, not an idea or lost translation. Just a girl who has turned into quite the lady; Gasp dare you say!
You look at me and idealize the red headed babies and Sunday afternoons spent at the park. Me pushing her in the swing and you chasing the dog. I’ll call the Nanny, there has to be a nanny, and ask her to pick up the dry cleaning. I’ll probably even say please when I hang up the phone, “Please – pick up the dry cleaning, if you don’t mind.” It won’t matter how much we pay her, she’ll be my friend and confidant.
Dating stage 1
If you ask the ill fated question of, “Do you cook?” I’ll deny my Martha Stewart nurturing abilities. I’ll lie and say I can’t cook even though I will run circles around Emeril. His “Bam” is my sha zam!

When you dream and imagine “that girl” it’s rarely the real me, (even my Microsoft Word detects that’s not the real me or a real sentence).
I can’t fix you, I can’t fix myself. I’ll end it all and stop when you try, forcing and questioning who pushed who first.
First
of
all
we aren’t broke so let’s stop trying. Then again, you already knew that. You stepped off the path when you thought you followed the trail. I begged, maybe even nagged, to stop and ask directions. You stopped, then turned to look at me placing your arm around my waist. Pulling me close, hip to hip, moving to the groove, your mind wandered as I looked into your eyes. It was all new to you. It was all new to me. How dare I – how dare you. But we did, we dared ourselves. My hands interlacing yours, dancing and moving to the beat. Is this . . . what we want? Do we want to become this close . . . and comfortable? I don’t wear comfort well, it’s not my shade. Standing still while the world swirled around a smidge away from reality – tempting truth and drinking it’s serum.
What if I . . . what if you hold to tight? Who will be the first to run? Who will be the first to play defense? Who will play offense? The best defense is a good offense, Philadelphia Eagles fans know this, we’ve been over that.
I look into your eyes staring at blank bullets waiting for the impact . . . waiting for me to run . . waiting for you to turn.

I’m not her, the one who broke your heart. The one who lied, the one “we do not speak of” even though you want to, the one who cheated. I am not that girl. SHA ZAM!

You stood there, not sure if you can continue and questioned, then digressed, should we end it all? Uncertainty and digression, evasive (we wear it well)
The wink.
That said it all, nothing more was needed other than the wink. Maybe a homina homina or a hubba hubba as you pulled me close and said, “What if I….what if you?”..all I heard was .. I am more than a little scared, more than a little uncertain.

What if I ….what if I talked about you on the internet? What if I said I don’t know what your looking for? What if you said, ‘I don’t think you do either.’ What if? I know your sitting there reading this, you’ll blink; maybe even jump and question is this about me or is this about him? You’ll never know. . . I won’t let you get that close. Remember that’s what I do best.

Just kidding.

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Responses

  1. You write as one who has either possessed or come close to a relationship that felt like home. Humans are more earth and clay than machine. The harshness of life might dent or reshape us, but rarely are we broken. Anyone who has taken time to watch a sculptor work their art will tell you that enough dents in the clay will reveal beautiful things.

  2. Kinda wish it was about me…


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