Saturday, February 12, 2005

sometimes i quite
hate
you.

sometimes i can quite objectively
know exactly what to say and forever
never have to speak to you
again. i don't, of course,

because i love you all the same, but
i just don't
like
you

anymore. you've become
someone else and i don't
know you any more. i do,
but only because my
reading isn't bothered, isn't hindered
by what your skin wears. but not
because it's particularly of interest

or you want me around to see through youlike
a real friend would. i don't
really care much, any more. i don't really
care much about most folks, most
folks are not worth a body's bother and love and
private jokes. some are,

and 'some' is quite enough for destruction. i
don't mind destruction very badly, he always said that
i could never hope to write if i hadn't
ever been thrown to the concrete. skinned knees and
scabby elbows seem to really yank the
muse's chains, i agree, bruises and batters and breaks. some
bruises never go away, those ones are the flecks
in your irises.

but you, you're such a nasty
piece of work now. i quite particularly
dislike the nastiness, the devil-may-careness. you
and i are still so similar that i am very frankly quite aware
that i place around you certain....shall we say
ideals
that i choose for myself too, very much like
buying twos of everything, but now always a size
too big. it used to make me upset, such waste, but
drains were meant for a purpose and i know that my
love is quite akin to Thor's horn, even if it must be poured down
a drain so selfishly stony as yours. you were rather right,
you know. you can totally

love a person and not like them
too much. but since once you and i shared
so much over salt-patterns on the table, papercup tea and machine-baked
cake studded with bright green 'fruit', because you are still in some part of your indifferent self
the guffawing, bright pixie i once knew, i pray
for you, always. if you have forgotten how to love,
i will not, not in this lifetime at least. you think i'm a fool, don't you,
but quite frankly my darling- 'tis not an art, and when you turn away
i see a bigger fool. because love is so simple, loving
only needs a heart just big enough to fit one more person in. your space is
always there, but the only difference now is that
i don't mind empty places that much. anymore.

Mina at 1:47 AM

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