December 18, 2002
you know you’re Lost
I saw someone today.
Looked into eyes I haven’t seen in a while.
Was swept into memories I haven’t examined in years.
Of a boy and a girl dancing around and around hand in hand. In the cemetery. In the rain.
Of long walks in a national forest and sunglasses that fell off during cliff climbing excursions.
Off big rocks and breathtaking sunsets.
Of french fries and roses.
Of being dressed up as Scarlet O’Hara in pure white, sitting at a restaurant next to a boy dressed as Rett Butler in a white suit complete with a top hat and cane.
Of a conversation where he asked, “Are you sure you want to?” and I answered, “Yes.” Where he said it had to mean something and I replied, “It would mean everything.” Words that haunt me, forever entrenched in my memory.
Of a haunted look in his eyes and a steamy reunion years later.
Of driving home in tears at midnight and turning the radio on only to hear songs he’d just requested. Sad songs. His pain.
Of, “We just can’t be friends. It‘ll never work. Not with our feeling and history. It has to be a relationship or nothing.”
Of being unsure and of him taking that as rejection.
Of nothing and nothing and nothing again.
It’s still nothing. Deep silence. It still hurts. Just not the same.
7:21 p.m.