That sad eyed girl. (pigeonwrites) wrote,
That sad eyed girl.
pigeonwrites

  • Mood:

The Light Is White

The days are getting colder.  Tell yourself it's only a cold-front and the chill in the air will pass.  It will pass, it always does.

It's a lovely notion, knowing that the final channels of autumn warmth aren't too far gone.  They're only flickering like a dying candle's wick.  The heat will return, but not as warm as it was a few weeks ago and you know that winter will come, eventually.

So you sit here, indifferent.  Moreso than usual, but you know it's the weather.  You know it's because you had to look at old photographs.  You had to go there, see it for yourself again, shake your head as you saw the age on his brow.  Saw the barely recognizable receding hairline that only you would notice.  You took your heart back a while ago, but he was your first love and somewhere inside you must accept the fact that he will always ALWAYS make you think "what if?" 

You see your friend's ex-girlfriend throwing hateful words.  Then you see your fling herself at his feet and beg him to make things right again.  Then she tells him that she hopes he's hurting, throws a sad little party for herself and takes bold pictures of her smiling through swollen red eyes.
When you were dumped, you ignored the phone.  You didn't know how you were supposed to act as the "old" news, so you distracted yourself and never expected anything more from him.  When he did call, you were surprised, but you didn't act sad.  You didn't let him see that you cared.  He came over, you laid your head on his chest when he tells you he cried himself to sleep.  You pretend for a moment that you didn't break-up.  You call him "baby" and he winces.   Take it back, apologize.  Think to yourself that you know that he'll marry the girl he met in college someday.

Now you sit here, and although you've already seen the pictures of his motley wedding and his wife's dimpled arms rising like dough from her strapless dress, and her maids dressed in every offensive color this indifference in the weather makes you look at them again out of curiosity.   Sigh and wonder if you'd thrown yourself at his feet when he broke your heart if things would be different.  Be haunted by the past for the first time in a while.  Think that things would have been different.  That ring would be on your finger.

Be reasonable.  Turn up your music, acoustic.  Smile and think of the new fellow with bright eyes playing his guitar.  Think of him singing Dashboard Confessional while you curled under his blankets.  You wanted to tell him that you loved him that night, but you were waiting for the right moment which just happened to be the night you made him macaroni and cheese and the only noise was the music of boiling water when you just said it.  You just spit it out on the table and he kissed. 

Yes, your love might have been directed elsewhere or your timing would be different in every aspect.  But you like it better this way.

You're going to go visit the boy and his guitar now.  Then you'll go to the capitol tonight to eat pizza on the river with your best friends from fourth grade, and seventh grade, and your junior year of college.  
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