Remember the last time we sat together?
I was boxing up the last of my things,
And you turned to me with that condescending scowl.
I could tell you were thinking of something poisonous to say,
Then you spat out,
With the only passionate tone ever to come from your lips:
“Mary, you romanticize everything,
Like that time we ate Ramen for a week.
You slurped a noodle and nodded around the room,
Then babbled on about how we were starving for our dreams.
Well I have news for you,
We were starving because you were late again.
And I couldn’t find my ******* tie,
Remember?
We found it a week later,
Under the bed, next to my bowl,
And then played gin rummy for the last few hits,
How’s that for a dream?”
I continued to pack but you kept staring at me,
Like a creature you have never lived or slept with,
I don’t know if it’s true, but I think you hated me for my innocence,
I do know that I began to resent you for snatching it away,
I wish I never went to that concert on 8th and McClair,
Or asked you to not look at my ID,
So I could drink another *** and coke.
I was a different person then, I wrote about the color green,
And its connotation to nature and eyes.
Now I find myself in a room with stained sheets, bourbon, and Bukowski.
Just so you know,
I never thought we were starving for our dreams.
It just sounded pretty out of my mouth,
Like something nice someone says when a relative dies.
I was just trying to take away the blow,
Of knowing that everything was not how we planned.
Then again maybe you were right,
Maybe I do romanticize things.
Because I still have your Rolling Stones albums under my bed,
And “Let Me Down Slow” helps me sleep when the silence hits.
But at least I have soul, and heart, and butterflies,
All that mushy stuff you hate.
The way your eyes went dull would scare me.
So how are you now?
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 1:37 AM UTC
Remember the last time we sat together?
I was boxing up the last of my things,
And you turned to me with that condescending scowl.
I could tell you were thinking of something poisonous to say,
Then you spat out,
With the only passionate tone ever to come from your lips:
“Mary, you romanticize everything,
Like that time we ate Ramen for a week.
You slurped a noodle and nodded around the room,
Then babbled on about how we were starving for our dreams.
Well I have news for you,
We were starving because you were late again.
And I couldn’t find my ******* tie,
Remember?
We found it a week later,
Under the bed, next to my bowl,
And then played gin rummy for the last few hits,
How’s that for a dream?”
I continued to pack but you kept staring at me,
Like a creature you have never lived or slept with,
I don’t know if it’s true, but I think you hated me for my innocence,
I do know that I began to resent you for snatching it away,
I wish I never went to that concert on 8th and McClair,
Or asked you to not look at my ID,
So I could drink another *** and coke.
I was a different person then, I wrote about the color green,
And its connotation to nature and eyes.
Now I find myself in a room with stained sheets, bourbon, and Bukowski.
Just so you know,
I never thought we were starving for our dreams.
It just sounded pretty out of my mouth,
Like something nice someone says when a relative dies.
I was just trying to take away the blow,
Of knowing that everything was not how we planned.
Then again maybe you were right,
Maybe I do romanticize things.
Because I still have your Rolling Stones albums under my bed,
And “Let Me Down Slow” helps me sleep when the silence hits.
But at least I have soul, and heart, and butterflies,
All that mushy stuff you hate.
The way your eyes went dull would scare me.
So how are you now?
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