Monday, October 02, 2006

Hold the Phone...

Walking through the kitchen of my new apartment you've crossed my mind. Sure. Many times. And right now I just don't see the point. I would like to be removed from your periodic well-wishing phone-calling, frequent mass-fowarded email list because I have enough garbage in my life. But thank you very much. I don't need you clutering my various inboxes with foolishness of the kind that is oh-so friendly and well-intended but sure to later "unintentionally" break my heart. "You know I didn't mean to". Too angry to play in your sand box, to angry to answer the phone I'm just...

Too old to even try to believe that you are not being shitty, pulling my heart strings and referring to such actions as "being civil". To dwell any longer in the memories of your bed and you, and how I...
would replay your voice mails to hear you say my name just one more time or marvel at the natural shine of your hair and how your eyelashes were so long and how I only adored you. And I did. Yep. From the moment we met. Civil. Civilized Civil War...Words neatly folded and pressed no longer move me, or my panties. Trust me.

I 'm too tired. And I'm still missing the point as I continue to recieve your phone calls as if...I should not want more as if I am incapable of giving you more. Maybe I am just too tired to give you anymore than you've been allotted, and I am near dry. So to shoot the shit for more than 120 seconds exceeds my limit and makes me weary deep in my soul and I am too old to believe that I am just being sensitive and to pretend to be unaware that things will not change. Unaware that you cannot live with the idea that you broke someone's heart and it is your guilt that dials my number. But everytime the phone rings and its you it hurts a little and I can smell your cologne, feel the warmth of your smile...take me off your- just calling to see how you're doing, multi-text messaging- happy holidays honor roll, please.
Maybe I'm just a little too angry.
Maybe I'm just going to disconnect the line, on you.
Just after you say my name and I recall the scent of your cologne...
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4 comments:

  1. damn shawty, when you're done, you're really done with a brotha huh...

    fine, i'll pack my bags...
    and get my things...
    and move into the garage ;)

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