Almost exactly 7 years ago.


i’m trying as hard as my oak bedside table. (2/24/04)

at the bus stop, on the stairs to my apartment
crossing the field which is sometimes coloured in shades of forest
but mostly in blinding white.

my friends talk about us while shopping for groceries
and agree that i am hopelessly devoted to the idea
of you and i.

i want to call you
but im afraid ill be intruding, by telling you how i still believe in this.

i am constantly second guessing myself
conveying things, with a subtext of immediate dismissal and apology.
because where the silence seeps in
[smoke from under a back room door]
is where i lose the ability to articulate words to you
without eyes and arms providing the punctuation.

i know you are not a place to be
you are not a page to be written on
or even an audience to perform for.

my proclimations of my friends
grocery store conversations
are just copies of the invitation i sent you months ago.
i know that you didn’t lose it
but you still haven’t RSVP’d
and it won’t be much of a gathering if i am the only one attending.

will you help me feel your eyes and arms
like more than the silence a fool creates?
will you help me build a place for us to stay?

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