The other night something happened, but not really.
We were standing in some sort of shadow in her hallway, the CD I burned for her a few years ago was playing in a faraway room, probably her bedroom, and the music floated over to my eardrums underneath all the lovely tones of her voice. I don’t know how we ended up that way, but it got so there was no distance in between us (and man, you know, this is huge. that distance has killed me and killed me for years…it’s the kind of thing you hate most about life). There were more words volleying back and forth between us in a hushed, almost frantic sort of way, until it was over and the faraway music - which had been the last song of the CD this whole time - stopped abruptly, like someone had slit its throat and threw it in a dumpster. Bam.
Within a few seconds, it was awkward, silent, and we took up new distractions and put that ugly distance back between us. I glared out the window and saw the trees, which meant nothing to me. I figured I’d be writing all of this down soon, not knowing how to feel about love or what this heavy emotion should be called.
The experience was odd, chemicals were going crazy, but nothing really happened, as I foreshadowed before.
Nothing ever really happens, but things go on almost happening just the same. She’s probably leading me on. I mean, I’m not stupid. But with every time she looks at me for too long, stands too close, or hands me a sentence that shouldn’t be handed to a friend…I forget a little more how to give up on her.
I've consulted my heart on the matter, and here is the answer that it continues to spit at me:
There are other fish in the sea, but the water’s cold,
and you never really learned how to swim.