Saturday, August 28, 2010

"Now you're married and your wife is with a child, and you're all laughing in the garden, and I'm lost somewhere in your mind"

"I'm a married man, you know."
"Yes, I've heard."
"Can you imagine my reaction, two weeks after the wedding, when I found out that you were never unfaithful?"
"No, I can't imagine the way you acted upon hearing that."
"And why haven't I been informed?"
"That you were always faithful to me."
"Because you were never misinformed."
"And you didn't bother telling me?"
"Not really, no. Why should I?"
"Because we were in love?"
"Ah, yes. Well, as valid a reason you think that is, it wasn't enough a reason for me to bother mend the wounds of our relationship. Simply because your baseless assumptions made me realize that you were not worth my time... at the time."
"At the time? And now?"
"We're irrelevant to the present."
"And the future?"
"I can't predict that."
"And the past?"
"The past is absolutely pointless."
"But if that little situation didn't occur, we would have never broken up?"
"I see no reason for us to have broken up."
"Except that."
"Yes, that."
"What now?"
"That's for you to figure out."
"What if I told you I can't leave her?"
"I'd say, that's a lie."
"But it isn't."
"It is."
"Because you're mine."
"And if I said I won't leave her?"
"I'd understand."
"Would you, really? Understand."
"No, but that's okay."
"And then what?"
"I don't know. We'd be friends, I suppose."
"We would?"
"Probably not."
"So you lied?"
"I did."
"Because I wanted to?"
"She's nothing like you, you know."
"You seem pretty happy about that."
"I am."
"I see."
"She's a wonderful woman."
"I believe you."
"It's much simpler, with her."
"Yes, life."
"But that doesn't really matter, does it?"
"Yes, it does."
"But your life can never be simple, you see."
"But why can't it be?"
"Because unfortunately, you love me."

Monday, August 16, 2010

Bright Lit Blue Skies, You're Full of Lies

And in the overly pretentious harness of ironic '60s pop optimism, they spent the warm summer nights tucked safely underneath the dried up city. Their city, sometimes. Labeling tags on their chests, a blot of vomit green on hers and half a question mark on his.

Not in love, not in lust, simply over their teens.

Then he crawled in for a kiss, and she moved away and said, "Honey, you are swine."

Luckily for him; she, too, was swine.