memories of my present

"It's funny, I feel like I've watched this movie before. Like I know the ending of it."
"What's the end?" I asked, almost instantly regretting it. The answer was a smirk and a look so still I saw my own apathetic face mirrored in her eyes. I knew it had to do with me. To do with her. That's what she believed. I believed it had to do with ending.
It's ironic because just a minute before this whole conversation stroke I had wisely mentioned how things never end, they just change, like a cycle that needs to be completed... I think I had finally experienced what the root of ending meant vs. my Pollyannaistic vision of ending. Its originally meaning states the opposite side. And there was I. Watching my end from the other side of the street.
I thought of how we were sitting on a bench. I remember writing you a poem where the bench was just an excuse to put into paper my thoughts for you. Sheer poetry. I don't really remember how it feels. Poetry. Or you.
During the conversation each phrase started to slowly fill my lungs with liquid emotions. Soon ideas rushed in so violently I am surrounded by water and I am drowning. I am blundering about the memories of my present. I am in and out. I am completely in, who am I fooling.
I have no.
CPR kit: 8 missed calls from you and your texts of where r u? or when r u coming home? or something like you cared for me and not who I was with. They reminded me why I am writing this. I swear, fate is just inevitable. She would think my introspectiveness had to do with the anticipation of me understanding her ending for this movie. But all I sank into was how you were not part of it.
It is indeed inevitable and it's crushing my every belief as my waiter crushes that juicy orange for my OJ and I just swallow it. I dare not taste it. It stings my palate, it corrodes my throat, the lack of understanding.
There is nothing deep about this little girl.
And when the clock ticks within me, nothing, nothing about that bench can be saved. And there was I, back to the same side of the street. I thought if I just talked to you about it, things would make more sense. So I did. I said à bientôt to her movie, at least for a while.
I am reading this to you and anticipating my fate. Anticipating you'll lose all the science and defy the gravity of things. So you tell me absolutely everything I don't want to hear. You wear your white coat and speak to me about how nothing is guaranteed and how what matters is just now.
Like I said, absolutely nothing I wanted to hear.



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