a true story that never really happened...

she's a pretty smart cookie, that one. not much happens that suprises her. oh sure, every once in a while, she has an off-day, but usually, that kid's head is on a swivel. she's the clutch player. she's the go-to. she's competent. and she is deadly efficient. the only caveat to that little rule...this kid only works alone. that makes the job harder, but with the ripping and tearing that she sometimes has to do, it also makes the job quicker.

she hides all the soft places she can think of...hides them very well, most people don't even know where to start looking, anymore. she's approaching solitude, and that both frightens her and kind of excites her. it's like one day, a switch was flipped, and she realized that if solitude was what life was going to throw at her, she would catch it and wear it like a crown. nothing marks her but her, like using a low grade diamond to cut one of a higher grade. she isn't particularly happy about how this feels, but life is too short to complain. sometimes she feels like she's watching it all happen outside of herself, and sometimes that's because even she can't believe what's happening, how it's happening, or even why. but it is. her life is happening. and it's not bad. not at all. not even a little bit.

she didn't mean to lie to him. really, she didn't. he's one of those people who knows the soft places, one of the ones she's invited. she knew better. he's such an old soul. she tells herself that she knows he's not perfect, but she really thinks he kind of is. and is he a trainwreck...God, yes. such a mess and jumblefuck of emotions and manifestos and guitar strings and beer bottles and cigarettes and ghosts of girlfriends past, and she loves him extra because of the mess. but she lies to him regularly. she has no desire to be what she is to him. but it's all she can be, and she'd rather be that than nothing. but she reserves the right to not have her face rubbed in it, which is why she lied and missed hearing her favorite song, and pretty much cried the whole way home.

the weight of that lie gets to her, but she chokes it down with a burning shot of pride, flicks her hair back, and keeps walking. she is pulling away from him. it's never going to be what she wants, and she's to a point that rather than have left overs, she'd really rather have nothing, but thanks for offering. it's past time. about three years past time, truth be told. almost exactly.

she remembers snips and phrases from her geometry class in high school. lines are infinite. parallel lines will always run parallel to each other. they never intersect. she thinks this is a lot like where she is with him. they see each other just fine. but they will never be on the same track. ever. this is physics. this is universal truth at it's very deepest, at least as far as their story is concerned. it doesn't matter what makes the tracks parallel...weight, distance, fright, uncertaintly, wrong hair or eye color, because it all amounts to the same thing...parallel tracks will never be more than parallel tracks. they don't bend, or move, or intersect. they are as close as they will ever be, and nothing can change that. all that fancy talk about it almost being like incest notwithstanding...and it was all just bullshit to make her feel better, anyway, things are the way they are, and ever shall be. it's time to just cut the cord and be done with it, just the same.

she is almost who she wants to be. but the weight of this pulls her back to places she never wanted to see again. cutting ties...tying up loose ends...parallel lines and universes...crosby stills nash and young...buying vinyls...doing yoga...losing fifteen pounds...stopping the clock...she is very tired, but she's getting her life right.

weird story, right...came to me in a dream...

mil besos,
rmg