So, It’s

And so it’s cheap taxis and pleas that you’ll stay under a sky that is apathetic and gray. It’s a number you scrawled that I shoved in my coat, an affliction with no chance for an antidote. It’s a promise to call that I probably won’t keep. But how inspiring is it to know that instead I’ll just sleep with a phone that’s turned off in a bed that’s unmade. It’s a lingering feeling that I should’ve stayed and not turned away to get in the car. Guilty as charged, followed the wrong star.

And so it’s your face in the faces I pass, a reflection of you holding me in the glass. But in a flash you’re gone and I stare at myself. Too tall, too thin, getting along semi-well but how well can things go if I’m drinking alone and trying my best to keep from being known?

And so it’s departures and checking out late from affair-plagued hotels where husbands with dates sneak away from their kids for a second of bliss and glance over their shoulders before every kiss. And it’s hoping you’d call back just this once for idle talk on the sidewalk or a smoke after lunch but I’m heading back to my static place, too tired to keep pleading my case.

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~ by perfectionatrix on November 11, 2008.

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