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September 22, 2005 - 10:44 a.m.
the pregnant pause you were the picture on wall the poster girl for being, wanting and having the girl I'd try on shirt after shirt for, to seep up some idea of you. absorbing racks of skate clothes and drinking Jones soda trying to put aside the former image of me, in my own mind, while working my way into yours, and proving to your friends that I wasn't Crystal, or Suzen. next you were trying on shoes, and I tried you on in my mind, as I tried not to fall all over myself all over you the streets of Toronto seemed the perfect place to make coincidence fate I was spinning inside myself, trying to remember which way was up, and told you that I'd seen you around when all I meant was "don't get me wrong, if I'm acting so distracted, I'm thinking about the fireworks, that go off when you smile" and it was that grin, that I remember, from the summer on your front lawn, when I made you the fodder of angsty poems and you became the 'you' in every song on my parent's car stereo as we bleached your hair, and we pretended not to stare and I smoked your cigarettes, when all I was addicted to was you coming when you called, falling out my bedroom window, 3 am Romeo moments, sitting by the lake, swinging through park night air, deconstructing every thing you told me about other girls, your suspended liscence and relishing the opportunity to be your knight in shining armour. and I followed you with sunshine and adoring looks, from Canadian Tire even when I had all the tools I needed, to Mexicali Rosa's where I drank all the margaritas you could feed me. Taking what I could get. Until you made it clear, that was all I could have. Except not. because I should have known by then that nothing was ever straight forward with you. and it was only on the backswing that you took me up cold lips under dark windows, thin doors ajar, water moving as abrubtly as your hands startling in their intensity we were star crossed, again and again and our paths intersect, like tangled limbs, and still, in the mess we made, and even though it's never quite right, that was only the start, the prelude to many sequels, that are always headed, as surely to that same end and no matter where you go, who you became and how many names or lives you wear, your teeth will always bring me back, your lips in focus, as I remember how fond I've always been of the open ended questions and the way you never felt the need to answer cause talk, as they say, is cheap. and you were always big on silence
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