I Always Thought I'd See You Again.
There will be some point on some horizon where some thing will probably be right.
There will be a day in the future when I can give up my tired dreams and think of new ones.
I want to shake The Man Theory. You know, the one where a man drives from some far off distance to see me, the one with the hat I can't remember. He's grown facial hair now in my mind, and I wonder if he's really just driving my brother's old truck.
I saw an old man at McDonalds, eating a cheese burger, drinking a cup of coffee, wearing a wedding ring, without a wife. I thought to smile at him, as I imagined in my head he was enjoying listening to me laughing with my mother. Some self important element thought to smile at him, as though I was giving him a gift. I looked up at him and smiled, and then immediately looked back down at my fries. I want my life to be too much like a movie.
I always thought I could be a completed piece of art, and that some day I could say I was finished. Now I laugh at how silly I was at 19, trying to map out my life. Just the same way I laugh at how silly I am at 26, trying to map out my life.
No way I can make plans for anything past Friday, and I don't know what I'll be doing this time tomorrow.
I'm not sad for losing Bobby, I'm mourning my wish for his return, I'm upset that I have to give up that huge chunk of hope I've been holding on to.
So maybe hope isn't the answer. When I stop to look around, I have to wonder if I can ever really take in all of the lessons I've learned today.
Don't let me get drunk alone again after tomorrow, tonight. Don't make me feel this again, today.
It's all this huge work in progress, I can't make a plan for this, there are no preliminary sketches, color schemes.
I don't want sex, though that's the word we use for it. I want the possibility of sex, as that's so much better than the package. I want the box in front of me, but I don't want to unwrap it. I want someone who smells good. A warm chest, and a finger tracing my panty line in the dark, under my covers, and a kiss good night on the forehead.
I want a look and implied meaning and inside jokes.
And maybe I'm happier without all of these things. Maybe I'm happy here with the perfect boyfriend that's actually my cat, and the single girl dinner of tuna, and the bottle of Bacardi, half finished coke, and toilet bowl full of butts. I get all of the covers, all of the pillows, and all of my queen size bed.
I wish I could say I believed in that.
It's just the rum talking.
I want a good life. I want a happy life. I want the pay off.