Wednesday, May 26, 2010


12 may 2010

What I’ve realized is that he’s a mouse. He’s like one of those who shoot black beads of sweat when portent to be contained because he’s trapped in a corner. Four walls are a horror. There’s no reason for him to be contained. In all the grade school years he had absorbed, he surely accomplished the dames. He gave interest while the rest paid it until he reached that point perceived as a peak because he was with it. Then he was complete. So he took the predator back and she gave him all she had. You know, he’s more like a shark; a loan shark. Because he was at that peak and he was ready to pay interest and she paid all the era permitted her to and hoped serving interest would compensate still. But he felt insouciant and she lost her house. And his substance began to wane. And his interest was still available but his concentration complained and she multiplied some focus and swimming began to stop and the suffocation began to bead. And she knew she didn’t like him. He fibbed intentions. How great to seem to love her company like going to see Ironman 2 and that art show together. But Alice in Wonderland and that diluted party was a cherished invite. Maybe some days he found her name in passing, automatically insisting that she was okay, which hurt her more to infer. She was his insignificant. Their relations were inconsequential unless his wanker felt insight. She wouldn’t go an event without him. She wondered if he’d still go to afterprom. Probably, if it included other kids from grade school. Yeah, she came from a different coast where you learned not to remember who was in your freshman classes. But he was proactively focused and everything he said was dogmatic and went. And others saw her as aggravated and bent out of shape. And she saw him as inherent. That was it. She loved the whole person he was. She loathed the idea of being the one who extracted his fear and his stubbornness; remained in the free spectrum of interest with payments to complement his competence, paying all that the era permitted her to, hoping it would compensate. From it, it was enough. She saw him as inherent so she was pliant. That was the reason. He was wholly the person she amateurely held fervid feelings for; she thought she was, too. But she realized that he, being repetitive to the foundation that made her stumble into hate, was all she clutched alike. Not a filler but a shirt cuff she had to pursue, suffocating and choking with mere obligation. Yeah, he was like a dog, panting beads of saliva, needing a friend. No she was like a dog. Kicked and cuddled and kicked. They were dogs, not neutered, chumming while being the best of someone else more worth it. And I just want my notebook back.