Wednesday, April 18, 2007

She tells me she wants to save me and I laugh at her before reaching over and buttoning the top button of her coat.
She smiles and her eyes soften in that way they often do, when she realizes someone cares about her, and she expresses her thankfullness without words.

There's a kiss; It's quick, it's soft, it's simple. We'd linger at the doorway all morning if we let it be anything more.

I watch her bounce out the door and down the street, the light catching in her hair in ways Hollywood wishes it could recreate, but never quite gets downpat.

I wonder what she's thinking of as she makes her way away from me, and I'm struck by a sudden crippling jealousy when I realize it might not be me. She's always in my head, my thoughts, my dreams. I can't imagine I'd ever be lucky enough to have her feel the same way.

She's privledged, while I never have been. She was given pony birthday parties, "Sweet Sixteen" cruises, a BMW for graduation. She's the poster child for Disney World vacations, fancy dinners, iPods, Sidekicks. Prada, Gucci, Chanel. Manholo Banhik pumps.

I glance at my own feet. There's a goddamn hole in my Wal-Mart socks. My big fucking toe is poking out. And it's cold in here. I couldn't pay the heating bill. My goddamn toe is cold.

And here I sit alone in my freezing living room, amounting to shit in the grand scheme of things. She's perfect, she always has been, and that's all she knows how to be. She's off to work, a job she loves, with people she loves and that love her... because that's just how perfection works. And her head is swimming with memories and plans and dreams that could all be hers if she just made the right phone calls. While I sit here alone, certainly not crossing her mind. My worthless memory would only bring her down. Why would she bother to think of me?

I never ask her for anything, yet she tries to give it to me anyway. For a moment I believe she must be pitying me, and I feel slightly ill at the thought. In reality I know she only wants to keep me happy.

The phone rings. The phone! The phone which has evidently NOT been turned off my the phone company yet.

It's her, all strawberries and cream on the other end, her voice like music to my ears, even in my jealousy and selfdeprication.

"I love you." She says forcefully, before I can even muster more then a hello. "I'll be home and rushing to your arms in exactly 8 hours."

Maybe I do cross her mind.

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