Fish and Chips
"A dollar more, a dollar less
Who are you trying to impress?"
And I'd sigh, exponentially tired.
You were smiling, never smoking.
Beer in your hand, taste of defeat in your lips.
Maybe the best thing of us is our what-could-have-beens. Our scenarios that we purposefully almost otherworldly create with the thoughts of each other but not actually with each other. Scenarios that are filled with wide-eyed kids with curly hair and thick lips, with vivid colour of annual summer trips, with honeymoons in London eating fish and chips. Scenarios that are just too far, too otherworldly, yet absurdly purposefully close to home if we chose to go through it. These are creation of my own interpretation of what I saw in us--what I've failed to notice (years and years ago).
What we had was something that all the philosophers, scientists and human behaviour specialists unsuccessfully try to solve--the intimate unromantic platonic friendship. Such things couldn't have happened, since more often than not, either one of the parties would fall for the other. I did. For you. Especially, exclusively, irrevocably.
You've had enough--I haven't tasted it all. Funny, how, all these years I've been longing for a certain hypothetical person--but I was too busy to take notice of your full-grown heart, mature head, your endless patience, your tired sleepy eyes, the warmth of your hug, your accepting smiles, that playful tug on my hair when you were not patient, and everything that made you who you are. I was too busy for my person.
But that person is gone. Your phase in my life is over. It's time for me to move on.
You are now blurry, far away, and with your back on me.
(Please come home soon)
Who are you trying to impress?"
And I'd sigh, exponentially tired.
You were smiling, never smoking.
Beer in your hand, taste of defeat in your lips.
Maybe the best thing of us is our what-could-have-beens. Our scenarios that we purposefully almost otherworldly create with the thoughts of each other but not actually with each other. Scenarios that are filled with wide-eyed kids with curly hair and thick lips, with vivid colour of annual summer trips, with honeymoons in London eating fish and chips. Scenarios that are just too far, too otherworldly, yet absurdly purposefully close to home if we chose to go through it. These are creation of my own interpretation of what I saw in us--what I've failed to notice (years and years ago).
What we had was something that all the philosophers, scientists and human behaviour specialists unsuccessfully try to solve--the intimate unromantic platonic friendship. Such things couldn't have happened, since more often than not, either one of the parties would fall for the other. I did. For you. Especially, exclusively, irrevocably.
You've had enough--I haven't tasted it all. Funny, how, all these years I've been longing for a certain hypothetical person--but I was too busy to take notice of your full-grown heart, mature head, your endless patience, your tired sleepy eyes, the warmth of your hug, your accepting smiles, that playful tug on my hair when you were not patient, and everything that made you who you are. I was too busy for my person.
But that person is gone. Your phase in my life is over. It's time for me to move on.
You are now blurry, far away, and with your back on me.
(Please come home soon)