| The Two of You This pub has your scent, your sound: sour sweet and smoky, thick with a low, slow beat. Here I am, so pathetic, writing on a drink ring-stained napkin because seeing You prompts me to. And tonight, I saw You for the first time. And right now, I realize that I never knew You, so it could not have been that I loved You as I thought I did 4 years ago. I certainly do not love You now, though Your boyish face may tug at my heart, I do not love You. The scent of this sour sweet place triggers thoughts of thrashing about 3 years ago in the fervor of disgorged lust with you, in the let-down of what could never have been with You, in the room of someone with Your name, (I was there only because they had Your name). But have I confused the two of you? Have I interchanged ages and dates and times and instances and places? Could the two of you have bled together, for you are so different in heart, life, and character? Are the two of you muddled amongst the meaninglessness inside of me? I suppose that two of you have bled together, because You would have never reeled me in, gutted me out and tagged my fin, and yet I feel as if You have... Strange, you could never be an island, You could never be a fisherman, And You could never be like you. Yet, the two of you make me feel the same way: Soured, pathetic, confused, hurt. Are the two of you the same person, just schisms in my brain? Who are the two of you? Who are you? And who are You? |