Untitled by katiecooperx
Missed Connections in Portland
You Are My Missed Connection
Steel cables stretch across the desert floor….relief dips in the eighties. There are visions of Carrot Top dancing in my head…dancing and dancing…
I think I can hear it now, the distant buzz of those neon signs you talked so much about.
I think I’m losing my mind.
Put on a brave face kid. Sleep is for the weak he said,
those sad beautiful eyes fixed on mine.
God, those eyes…
Who’s weak now? I never thought I’d live to see the day.
You were supposed to be invincible. You promised you would be okay.
What the fuck do I do now?
I miss that smoke filled car. I remember the way your delicate tracks felt beneath my fingertips, the way my chest would ache as I’d choke back the tears… the way my touch could diminish that ego you held so dear.
I miss the wandering fingertips, I miss your sweet and gentle kiss.
I miss feeling so small and fragile in your arms, the arms that I always thought would be waiting there to keep me safe. I miss being vulnerable.
I miss you being the smoke, no…
I miss you being MY smoke.
I remember watching as you rose to the ceiling, I remember the fleeting but inevitable feeling in my heart right before you slipped through the cracks…the emptiness I feel now, just an awful reminder that I could have pulled you back.
I can’t stop wondering what would have happened,
what could have happened…
I can’t accept that it doesn’t even matter anymore.
I would give anything.
Anything. I don’t know why I didn’t stay the whole night through, I don’t think I’ll ever know. I don’t think I’ll ever stop asking myself. I should have held you closer, kissed you more… I should have let you in. I know that now…
I would have hopped on that train, you know it’s true.
No destination, no plans …It would have been me and you.
But you said you would be okay.
You said you would be okay….
What I wouldn’t give to hear you whisper in my ear one last time,
“I love the person I become when I’m with you”
All I wanted was for it to be real.
And now it’s too late, it’s too late to tell you that I know it was, to tell you that I’m here.
I’m lost without you. Please know…
I love you, I do
Her Two Cents
In a sea of messages selling sex, NSA hook-ups, locker-room fantasies, rants against humanity, and inebriated ramblings crafted hastily in the early hours of the day, it’s all too easy to pass-over a real message, written by a real person, about something terribly tragic and terribly real. We often hear and say the words, “I’ll be ok.” and we hold them to be true until the day comes when they no longer are.
