Monday, September 27, 2010

A Recurring Thought

I mean, yeah, she doesn't talk to me as much I'd like, but it's got to be fucking hard to be that woman. Her world is mutating, changing, hell even falling down and I want her to take a minute and tell me that she misses me. It's absurd.

I am starting to realize that my idiocy is growing. I am treating my love like the proverbial carrot on a stick. I just keep dipping it down into her world without even asking if she even likes carrots anymore. Maybe she developed an allergy to orange phalluses and she doesn't have. time in this storm to tell me about her reaction.

I wish I could wait patiently for it all to be over but my view of the situation is non-existent, so my over active mind keeps SCREAMING AT ME that I will miss it. This mythical opportunity. It keeps telling me that if I become forgotten, even for a moment, her memory of me will evaporate with all rain that has fallen in this current storm.

I am sure I am more like that three year old who. is tugging on her pant leg. You love that three year old to death, but you just wish it would shut up for five seconds, so you could think. You wish it would get distracted by some toy on the dollar rack, so that you both could be satisfied. If not just for a short time.

I am no fortune teller but I do know that I want to wait. I like this anticipation. Unless, the impossibility is made clear, I will be waiting here petting the heart on my sleeve. I will continue to remind her that love sits here with its book of opportunities. Whether or not she shows up here someday is not in question. It's whether or not she'll stay.