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Jan 2015
11/1/2014
   Every time I go into the library basement I think about the fact: at one point I would have taken a very soft rubber bullet to the ball of my foot for him. Now, at this point, i'd take a very real bullet on the occasion we had to cross paths. Sometimes, walking through Rittenhouse square, I would get this urge to give him a tremendous hug.
  But with the same intensity, a feeling of unease would creep on me when we drove in his car down the hill, humming and rolling with the quiet effects of German efficiency. I wondered. I couldn't possibly be scared of him.
  I'm sure he thought the same things. But mere rejection of Mariology at our young age'd contributed to our mutual apathy. I hate writing in parks. I had to write my Joycean riddles facing the door. I couldn't come to terms with him or anyone reading even a word by mere coincidentiality, right-place-at-right-time.
  Truth is, naked and embryonic, that none of this happened. This is just a cute dream. Philadelphia park dreams with the one who took my... innocence? I more like confirmed that societal pressures are *******. Like my friend Francis Scott said- I just want the pleasures of losing it again.
   When I sit here doing my AL 2 homework and he is doing a University research paper, the fuckedupedness hits me like a brick. Born too late or born too soon, easy come, easy go. I realize that I may be scared when i'm in that car.
   Because the truth is that yes,I do have to write in front of a door- but... I never thought that we'd every really be together in the grown up love future. Capable of loving someone that much I know. Old letters prove it.
   And where am I left? He is saying things to me he probably will say to someone this very year- and i've never said any of them to anyone in my life.
    I close my textbook, yawn a bit. I know there won't be a grown up love future- an apartment. But I just have to make sure the fantasies expressed by him are copacetic.  How will a day in the apartment look like for us?

He'll forget, if I don't first.
part of the "monologues" series, ongoing (11/ 2014- present)

connnections to real life people are entirely coincidental. This was based off a relationship i had, but not from my perspective.
Written by
KD Miller  princeton | NYC
(princeton | NYC)   
389
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