Rush

If I was given one more conversation, what would I say?

Sometimes, always after midnight, I escape into the hypothetical.  I suppose I'm too busy.  I suppose my defense mechanisms work late into the day.  I suppose it hurts more than I care to admit but less than I wish to imagine.

See you tomorrow! 

I fucking lied.  He made a liar out of me. 


I remember my first kiss; the first kiss with someone I loved.  Her name is inconsequential. 

I fucking lied again.  Her name was.  Her name is significant.  Just like her blue eyes.  Just like her flawless face. 

Talk to you soon!

I swear I never mean to lie.  I swear I mean what I say.

I miss that rush.  When she called, they weren't butterflies.  They were airplanes.  Swimming in my gut.  Oh, but when I saw her, I swear, time stood still.  Like it does after midnight.

I'm drowning in the hypothetical because I will never know.  Sometimes, I would rather be judged by intentions and not results. 

I'm not afraid to say I love you.  At least, not anymore. 
I'm not afraid of your affection.  It's easy to admit when that affection is no longer to be had.

Ghosts are never friendly.  It's a creation in our own minds.  Probably to help us cope with the reality of our last words.


I saw him on a Friday.  Good Friday, I suppose.  But for him, Easter never came.  He never rose again.

If I had one more conversation, would I beg him not to go?  I suppose he carried my cross for those decades that I knew him.  I suppose this is what I deserve.


She told me I was beautiful.  A fucking liar, she never was.  Her compassion was her essence and her smile was no disguise.  I found comfort on her face.  I discovered love the day she left.

If I had one more conversation, would I beg her not to go?  I suppose she died for my sins.  I suppose we shall meet again.

I miss the rush that's been replaced by the mundane.  And those faces I can no longer paint.  And I miss those words that were never said but were understood underneath the surface.  And I miss his trembling hands and I ache for her timid voice.

And I rush throughout the day; waiting for midnight to arrive.  Just so I can go swimming in the hypothetical and rush back into their lives.  As if, anything I wish for can ever be relived.  As if, anything I could undo would ever be done differently.

I suppose if I had one more conversation, I would beg them not to go.