last time we spoke in person,
you were mumbling to yourself
because you didn't want to be real.

the day looked warm, but wasn't.
we looked warm, but weren't.
we both put on bright colors and "good intentions"
and staged a disguised tragedy
for your best friend,
your new convert,
and my bruised, pathetic, parasitic alter ego;
the one who lives in a halcyon utopia of ignorance and bliss,
the one i was trying to **** with exercise.
my legs were as sore as hell.
i had run too far,
too long
last night.
it was starting to wear on me,
and yet later i would go running again
to **** that man who was born a year ago this month.
why won't i ever give up?

and there was that abhorrent autobus!
the one that doughnutted me all the way to
Revelationville and left me there,
stranded
with no means to get home.

i took a seat.
parasite thought that maybe his work would be
rewarded, this newer body exalted,
but parasite lives in ignorance and bliss.
and there i stagnated for seventy-two minutes,
ironically,
until most of us were ordered off the bus,
but you and your best friend stayed,
which would be more like a reverse irony.

all day, i doughnutted my way around
that college campus,
that strange new world i had to adjust to.
i knew i might not attend there when i became of age,
but i memorized its hallways and corridors anyway.
every aspect of it is still preserved in my mind.
why do i do things like that?

they were testing us on things i was never taught,
and didn't understand,
like why Norman Peevey, with his visible muscle, had two girls at his sides,
and why i could hardly manage one
being handsome, as Hope and others had called it,
and nice,
and having a decent body,
and twice the personality.

they also tested us in english and creative writing.
i made the high score.

i was jettisoned out of that unfamiliar world.

and when we made it to the restaurant
i sat alone,
and you sat with friends,
but eventually invited yourself over.
your best friend did most of the talking,
so i just listened to her,
fiddling with the notepad on my ipod
until i asked, "is 'autobus' one word, or two?"
you held up one finger. "one. why?"
"i'm playing scrabble on my ipod," i lied.

why did you have to see me on a bad day?
why is every day i come within five feet of you
a "bad day"?

speeding back to that ****-infested hometown,
you were mumbling a song i knew,
about blocking out the world with headphones.
you didn't want to be real.
being real would mean talking to me.
being real would mean facing my music.

i mumbled a song to block yours out:

"you abandoned me.
love don't live here anymore."

why won't you let it die,
so you can let it be reborn,
like i have died,
only to be reborn?

last time we spoke in person
you kissed a fogged up bus window
because you were sad.

the day was cold and gray and wet.
we were cold and gray and wet.
the bus had a blowout, there was smoke everywhere,
we pulled over.
everyone freaked out,
but we just sat there.
you were in front of me,
i was behind you,
texting each other, because we couldn't talk in person,
ever.
i had decided i was mad at you.
why was i mad, and not sad?
you had decided to make my mistake
of wanting something you just can't have.
why were you sad, and not mad?

the bus pressed onward on three wheels and a doughnut-
a wheel you want to think is there, but isn't.
and when we made it to the restaurant,
i sat alone,
and you sat alone
with friends you kept from inviting me over,
and you left
and they left
and i left.

the bus doughnutted it's way to some ****** play,
i sat on the far left,
you sat on the far right,
and they left,
and you left,
and i left.

we were waiting on something,
so you typed "hey"
and i typed "what"
and you asked me what i thought
and i said there was only one way it could have been worse.
and you asked what
but i didn't answer.

the bus doughtnutted it's way down the twisting, turning, hateful road that leads to my hometown where i can hardly pass a crack in the pavement without a painful memory, like a ****, sprouting up.

it was cold and gray and wet that day;
the bus window was foggy.
you drew a heart and scribbled initials inside.

T.M.
+
A.F.

you kissed a fogged up bus window
because you were sad.

i drew a heart and scribbled initials inside,
of course you couldn't see me
(i was behind you)

V.T.
+
A.F.

i kissed a fogged up bus window
because i was sad
and wished you would turn around.