Surprisingly Enough

Surprisingly enough, I've forgotten how to miss you, which only makes me sadder than the way I felt before. Your voice, your scent, your siren's song have fallen down the holes I've burned into my memory while having a good time. Maybe it's a good thing that obsession's gone away, but knowing that I knew you was a comfort. Not to say I still don't wonder, ponder, question where you've gone, or spend a lot of restless hours trying to sleep though your memory. It's just that urgency and need have melted into faint nostalgia and quaint, quiet grief. I'm hollow now, and only echoes seem to reach me from the hole you left inside. Somehow, I don't think you'd care. Which, in a way, I'm happy for. One of us should be normal, in the end. I wish I could replace you, or at least your space inside, but I don't think I remember what to do. So I rummage through my baggage, and I sit in lonesome splendor and I fantasize of women much like you. Looking nothing like your faded pictures or your quiet whispered voice, only fitting somewhat like you used to fit. I was spoiled by your interest, never knew why you showed up, so, in my ignorance of the dance steps I'm left sitting by the door. I don't care, you know, about my worries, I'm afraid I'm used to being lonely, scared of what I'd find, out on the dance floor. Did you see the silence in me? Was that why you said goodbye? Or was it something else and nothing to do with me? I've forgotten many things now, and I'll forget even more, so ignore my rambling nature, pretend you never saw me, and go merry on your way.This is old, from 1996. The imagery is that of a young and fevered man, and unsubtle. My apologies. Written March 6th, 2002 © on Mar 05 2002 10:10 PM PST   0 • 1