where i'd bet we'll be
Dec. 16th, 2003 09:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
godreamThis seems to be as close to prose-ing as I get lately...
I never did like risk, and I still don't want to tell you. Gambling in so many ways... double or nothing, and I lose your friendship (may I call it that?) if the cards fall wrong. I'd never make a good poker player -- my whole being is one huge tell, subconsciously proclaiming emotion that I've rationalized not telling you about. Say the word and I fold, slinking from the room ashamed of myself for my fear, ashamed of having anything to be afraid of.
And so I've got these scene all planned out in my mind, carefully contrived as an overused metaphor. We'll be playing for pennies at the last event and it won't matter anymore if I win or lose. It won't matter if the music's playing a soft romantic melody or if I have to shout to be heard over the DJ: I love you, I've loved you since the very first time I saw you smile. And I can't dance except for a few thousand flawless imaginary waltzes, but will you hold me so we can both laugh our way through the adolescent mating rituals stranger than anything in a biology textbook?
And maybe you will, and maybe you won't, but by then it won't matter. I'll never have you because I'll never see you again, but I'll have resolution, and I'll have months of carefully-honed fantasies, suitable for insertion of the next knight in shining armor, and I'll have a poem so I can watch (like a car crash, all drama and beautiful flames) and remember how it felt, the sweet illusion of living and dying for a word from you.
the sad thing is? one hundred percent straight from the cliche-ridden heart. well, eighty percent at least, my cynical side has issues with this usage of the word 'love'.
I never did like risk, and I still don't want to tell you. Gambling in so many ways... double or nothing, and I lose your friendship (may I call it that?) if the cards fall wrong. I'd never make a good poker player -- my whole being is one huge tell, subconsciously proclaiming emotion that I've rationalized not telling you about. Say the word and I fold, slinking from the room ashamed of myself for my fear, ashamed of having anything to be afraid of.
And so I've got these scene all planned out in my mind, carefully contrived as an overused metaphor. We'll be playing for pennies at the last event and it won't matter anymore if I win or lose. It won't matter if the music's playing a soft romantic melody or if I have to shout to be heard over the DJ: I love you, I've loved you since the very first time I saw you smile. And I can't dance except for a few thousand flawless imaginary waltzes, but will you hold me so we can both laugh our way through the adolescent mating rituals stranger than anything in a biology textbook?
And maybe you will, and maybe you won't, but by then it won't matter. I'll never have you because I'll never see you again, but I'll have resolution, and I'll have months of carefully-honed fantasies, suitable for insertion of the next knight in shining armor, and I'll have a poem so I can watch (like a car crash, all drama and beautiful flames) and remember how it felt, the sweet illusion of living and dying for a word from you.
the sad thing is? one hundred percent straight from the cliche-ridden heart. well, eighty percent at least, my cynical side has issues with this usage of the word 'love'.
