There has come a point in a few promising potential relationships, where it just fizzles. The lines of communication twist and tangle in the unspoken wind; either I’ve run out of interesting things to say, or I’ve ceased to be interesting. But my imaginary friends keep telling me I am, interesting I mean. But somehow, the conversation languishes, lacking meaningful context and she just disappears.
The one reoccurring thought I have: She knows.
There’s no one incriminating tragic event, of inadvertently murdering a hitchhiker with a group of friends, because that’s so last summer. No instead it’s a collection of “shouldn’t have done that… shouldn’t have done that. ” Hagrid Moments, that could possibly come back to haunt me.
It’s six-degrees-of-separation; it’s six friends between Her and that stupid thing I did– or her stupid friend that I did it with. And even though it didn’t mean anything… it’s permanent. Because dating on an island is like painting with watercolors in the rain– everything bleeds over into everything. And thirty seconds of “There’s a funny story behind that, let me explain…” could be the difference between dead ansibles and ignored texts of indifference and happily ever laughter.
And that’s what I’m after.
So there’s probably a funny story behind that, let me explain…
Bump it with:
(That dance intermission doe…)