Seems like it always midnight...

So Friday afternoon, and I'm steadily edging ahead of the last of rush hour traffic. Passing some shirtless midget with a mullet in a primer-red pick-up.

I think to no one but the wiper blades: "What the fuck am I doing?" as I return to the right lane.

Just running away from an empty home and an even emptier life? Heading to the folks' for sympathy and home cooking. Sugarcoated memories.

Have I really forgotten what made me leave in the first place? Or Am I hoping to live it right this time?

It isn't really about them, is it? It's about me. It's about my mistakes, my life, and my memories that haunt me and taunt me like the rain against the windshield. I really wanted to wash my car today...

I see the exit approaching; 2 miles. Should I just keep going. It's a few hundred more miles from where I've always thought I should be. Has that been sugarcoated too?

Was it always this cold on this interstate? When I was 19 I used to sneak back this way at 3a.m. after doing things that would make my mother wonder what she'd done wrong.

Perhaps it was what she'd done right that made her never question where I was or what I'd done. I was taught, indirectly, to hold on to what you can in life, because very little is truly constant.

What is constant for me these days?

The emptiness I feel on nights like this when the rain is coming down and there's nothing to hold on to except a feather pillow and a memory.

The "what-ifs," the "I could-have’s," and the siren outside at any given hour.

Is it a sad song on the radio and the scratch in my throat while I sing every word as if I had written them?

Or is it the midget in the pick-up, which I always seem to be passing, but just can't seem to lose.

The number on the matchbook is old and faded...

I don't know why I bother to think about those who left. They left for some reason.. namely me.

For years I was too available. I fell for the man who could make me feel different. Different from what it was that I'd felt in the past. I fell for some bozos. I'll just put them out there (minus the first): Don, Tripp, Tom, Jeff, Tim, Seth, Steve, Tom, Matt, Mick, Dan, Chris, Todd, Jeff, Eric, Mathias, Scott, Ryan, Jon, Stephen... Oh, It's not even worth mentioning.

To be fair, some of them were left by me, and most of them were hardly a fall, they were more of a stumble or knock on the shin...but they all hurt in various levels of pain. None so bad as the first, but they still hurt. Well, except for a couple of those momentary lapses in judgment. That seems to happen a lot.

Must be exhausting to lose your own game...

You popped in unannounced and unwanted. I told you before that I can't take your immaturity; so I ignored you. How's it feel to have the immaturity returned to you? Fucker. Then you try to tell people it's me with the problem.

I'm only returning the gift you gave. Bitter pill to swallow, isn't it? Or just another cliche.

Just my imagination...

I thought you were a mature, intelligent human, but now I find you are just a scared, stupid child. You weren't who I thought you were...just an apparition of my ideal. So today, as I grab my latte and look out through dark glasses, the iPod in my ear plays songs of sadness and songs of hope. I pray for the latter to get me through the former, but only time will tell.

In the meantime, I'm still looking for that tall, dark stranger who caught my attention on the street; the gentleman who smiled and waved at me when I was in another town; the face in the crowd that makes me forget what I was going to say next; the hit-and-run years ago who reached from behind and held my hand at the concert; and the one who could make me forget the first and could become the last and not just the latest.

Patience.

How my poor heart aches...

I've not heard from you today and it feels like a loss. How can you touch me and then walk away? It's not as if we live together; that would be too easy.

You're only a couple of miles away and yet you are constantly on my mind. The evil little grin, the stubble on your chin, and the smooth skin in the small of your back (your low-rise jeans give away a lot as you step into the car).

Something in the wind tonight reminded me of you; the familiar brush across my cheek, the force at which it ripped through my clothes, the comfort as it enveloped every inch of my being, and the chill as it left me alone and cold.

At least I have the wind.

I feel happy inside...

Resting just between us, my right hand was held in nervous anticipation. It sat open and inviting on the couch as I use my left to wipe the sweat from my brow.

God, I wish he'd just touch me.

I wonder if he knew what I'm thinking. He was watching the movie intently, but I got the sense that he knows I'm watching him with the same conviction.

I thought, "Maybe if I stretch I can reposition myself so that my hand gently brushes against his. Oh no, I can't do that. He will see right through me and know what I'm up to. But, what if he then takes my hand? At least I will know that he knows and that he is interested too. Then maybe he will pull me in and kiss me. His lips on mine. I can move my hand to the back of his head and comb through his hair. I feel the curls sliding through my fingers now, they tickle."

Shit. I was breathing heavy and he's going to think I'm some perv. I had to calm down; my palms were starting to sweat and there's nothing worse than sweaty palms.

"Please don't grab my hand now. Maybe I can rub my hand on my jeans without him noticing. But I really want to rub my hand on HIS jeans. STOP THAT! I am making things so much worse," I screamed to myself.

Then he saw me move my hand, and gently grabbed it.

So far from where I've been...

This morning as I lay my arm gently across my pillow. I moved my fingertips in soft circles imagining it to be my true love's chest. Would it be hairy? Smooth? After thinking about it for a moment, I can almost feel soft swirls of hair between my fingers.

It has been a long time since I've fallen asleep in the arms of another. I sometimes forget what it really feels like.

The gentle rise and fall of my lover's chest under my cheek and "lub-dub" against my ear drum. The slight tickle of my lover's breath against my hair.

Those were much simpler times, unspoiled by money, power, or lust. Before my first love set me free into the world. "You need to see what else is out there," he had said.

It's been twelve long years, and even still I'm not so sure.

Clouds descending...

I can smell you on me. I know it can't be, but your scent on my shirt lingers and I feel you on me again. Nothing sexual, just a slap, a grab of the foot, and I'm hooked. I'd drop everything for you, because when you smile everything drops out of sight of its own volition. I need you. To kiss you, hold you, etc...