Waiting III


And I’ve been waiting in the weeds
Waiting for the dust to settle down along the
Back roads running through the fields
Lying on the outskirts of this lonesome town
And I imagine sunlight in your hair
You’re at the county fair

You’re holding hands and laughing
And now the ferris wheel has stopped
You’re swinging on the top
Suspended there with him

And he’s the darling of the chic
The flavor of the week is melting
Down your pretty summer dress
Baby, what a mess you’re making

And all I do is listen, trying my utmost to appear interested in her affairs, while feeling a painful torment knowing that I’m not ‘that guy’, and will never be her guy. You might ask, why would I put myself through such torture? I can’t tell you, because I don’t know. Attraction is a weird thing.

I was her flavor of the week. The darling of the chic. A toy. A James Patterson novel that gets tossed after being flipped through once. I’d occasionally get picked up and be skimmed, before being set aside again for something more interesting.

But alas, no. Your conscience-free way of living your life will not affect me for long. Don’t get me wrong. You’ve never wronged me directly. Or maybe you have, but in easily deniable ways on your part. It is just who you are.

Where does this leave me? Nowhere, almost literally. Your mannerisms are disdainful. Your elegance non-existent. Your melancholy is pretentious. Your conversations with me adds nothing to my being. Sometimes I feel you function more as an audience for me than as a friend. You laugh when we talk, much more so than I. You’re like a wall that takes in my wit but doesn’t feed it back, but occasionally drops rocks onto my head.

I wonder if I should pull the plug. Love is a fun game to play if you know the stakes. Now that I know what I am to her, I perhaps can deal with it when I see her. But it’s difficult suppressing a side of me that views her with contempt and condescension.

It’s time to dim the lights.


I’ve been stumbling through some dark places
Now I’m following the plow
I know I’ve fallen out of your good graces
It’s alright now

*lyrics by the Eagles

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