so you said you travelled far, you said you met some girls, yet you’re not an insider, merely an observer, but your smile gives you out.
and you said you’d talked to her and she told you that she knew me, you had recognized the picture, we’d met in the same place, in another life,
and she’d told you about her father you asked me if it was true, what can i say ?
she told me the same, too.
i didn’t want to know how cool you think she is, i didn’t want to show if i want to be missed, and i don’t want to know if i feel something still, if ever i did, if ever i did.
then you said you had plans for us, you said you liked my work, you said you needed me, you’d be the hand, i’d be the eye, tell me where and when, i said that i was free.
when you started about your sickness of sex without love, i thought about my own cold sheets, and despite our resemblance and same tastes,
when you say you are like me, not insiders, merely observers,
when you thank me for the evening, you smile goodbye and you know i’ll be waiting for your call, wondering
if i even like you, if i even like you.
and every encounter leaves me cold and empty, no matter how warm you are or how friendly, i shouldn’t have gone home, you know, i should have gone to the movies.
(unusually, very old text, new picture)
[edit](the text was inspired by people who barely made a stop into my life before leaving it. i don’t know why, but i prefer to let you readers know that there’s nothing in it to be taken personally.)[/edit]
