Something Left to Say

We found some dead silence between unnecessary declarations we had a “good time today” and reverberated inside jokes that somehow still struck us as amusing.  But this silence can’t be overlooked for the hope of some good vibes twisted in a breeze between the leaves caught in our glasses- why can’t we see?  Cold water runs through my veins as a try to find a way to loosen the knot in my tongue, tied from my mind, to my heart- beating, beating, beating.  Just say it.  It’s like a good article, lead then theme- but what is the theme?

What was ever the theme?
It was nothing.  Just a thought.  Maybe a feeling.  But why say what only matters when spoken?  Do we really need more to think about between people who take the simplest of things, and make them a game of chess?

Third Wheel Cycle

Third wheel in, I’m gathering evidence of where I went cold.  What conversation is open, what inside jokes make sense these days, where do I look when they mirror that knowing stare I wish I could share with someone like them, someone like me?

Fifth wheel in, I’m wandering the dance floor, looking for someone as apathetic as me.  When will they all go for drinks, how long does this ballad last, what am I doing out with friends when I could be just as lonely being alone?

Seventh wheel in, I’m drifting from pair to pair trying to play jester for kings and queens of a realm I somehow forgot how to belong to.  What stories do I have to convince them I’m worth the attention, how many drinks does it take to forget this feeling, when’s the next bus to desperation because I’m halfway done with this bottle of envy and onto the next one.

To be so devastatingly terrified by love, a force unknown and unexplained yet felt by all, and to long for it so deeply.
Alone is not lonely.
But alone is alone.
Promiscuous encounters are not solutions but ducktape on blisters made by years of working too hard to love and be loved.
Where is it now.
What is love.
Must we know what it is before we indulge in it?
Will I have anything left of me if I’m wrong again?
I’m not used to it.
I’m not used to any of it.
You’d think it was a war of hearts, the way we talk about it.
True love is a facade, an illusion.
Must we all just find someone we tolerate enough to spend the rest of our lives with?
Or we’ll just be alone…?
Which is better?  What is love?   Am I lonely or just alone…

And why does any of it matter.
We love love like a distant memory.
Whatever it was.  Whatever is could be.
Is… it?