Picasso

It has been one of those days. One of those days where I chase away the memories. One of those days when I am just so exhausted from the constant thinking about not thinking that leaves me doing nothing but thinking. I think about us, the us that was and the us that never will be. “Our” song comes on the Zen, like it knows I’m in that place and that all of our nothings that have been playing on repeat all day need a soundtrack. A quiet, pulsing, accurate soundtrack for the scenes that have fallen to the cutting room floor, forgotten, ill-gotten, late night hallucinations of a romantic comedy scrapped for something else. Maybe someone will find those moments, those memories that are soft around the edges, and piece them together to form a harsh mosaic, the Picasso version of us, your hand at my back, my mouth at your ear. Maybe there will be a renaissance, a glorious enlightenment, a Michelangelo version of us.

Maybe.

But right now, I’m too tired.

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Posted on June 28, 2006, in Boys are pretty. Bookmark the permalink. Comments Off on Picasso.

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