i think of all the
conversations we could have.
all the conversation i want to have
but silence floods my insides.
i like not knowing.
i like making up stories
in my head.
you're more interesting that way.

we are in the purgatory
of being in love
and being nothing more
than mere friends.

purgatory is the same
as hell for me.  
but at least then, i'm somewhere.

Freud said it best
"time spent with cats
is never wasted"
there have never been
truer words.
you feel the love
that you deserve,
the passion of another
being needing you,
the conversations you
dont have to make,
the satisfaction when you
hear purring just from
your touch,
the content of just
being in the same room.
the only thing missing
is those feelings being
felt towards you.

have you ever wondered
what it's like to feel something?
something so real it hurts you
it hurts you in ways
that force you to stay awake
all night, tossing and turning,
crying, sighing, and shivering.

it's the feeling of being in love.
it's the feeling of losing someone.
it's the feeling of loneliness.
it's the feeling of self loathing.
it's the feeling of depression.
it's the feeling of happiness.
it's the feeling of emptiness.

i grab my glasses
off of the bed side table,
i look at the keyboard
and place my fingers
on the keys that
spell out your name.
i dont want to write about
you anymore,
i want to write about the things
that make me happy.

human life is so weird,
you wake up to an empty bed,
you make a half *** of coffee
because there is no one there to share
it with you,
you stare out the window
and imagine all the couples
sharing the news paper and
a morning cigarette,
you shower,
you get dressed,
you go to a mundane job
that you wish wouldn't **** you,
you come home to a messy flat,
you take off your shoes,
you go to the bathroom mirror
and look at your city filled pores,
you eat dinner,
you go to an unmade bed
that has more pillows than you need
just so it seems like someone else is
sleeping beside you,
you read the book thats been
sitting on your bedside table for
3 months because you just stare
at the word filled pages,
and then, out of nowhere,
you're asleep, dreaming of a different life.