But I’m sad. I wrote, even though it made no sense.

I read those words hanging there, “But I’m sad.”

Actually, I wrote, “but i’m sad”

The lack of capitalization and punctuation punctuated the depth of or lack of something that seemed to want to be noticed so badly.

but i’m sad

So many people are sad. It would be nice if we could stop making dinner every time someone was sad, but then no one would eat.

We’d all starve to death, but at least then no one would be sad.

My nerves float, swim, drift, up to my skin

past my skin

till they rest, just above my warmth.

People walk by and I shudder.

They take my hand and I swoon.

Interactions not swathed in the softest intentions

send me to my knees

seared and broken hearted.

It’s not fair to wear your heart on your sleeve.

No one committed to kid gloves.

But if someone doesn’t pad these corners soon,

the Rabbit’s gonna get it.

But if it did, I would tell you that I feel like nothing.

I feel like I lost something very important and I will never get it back.

I dreamt last night I was invisible, and I followed it around, and I tried to destroy it, but even in my dreams, I could only affect it as a dream.  I couldn’t fathom being real.  

But, that is wrong, for I am real, but it is not.  But none the less it destroys me.  And I wish I’d never known it.

When I stepped outside I saw the cab speeding down the street towards the yellow light.  He was blaring his horn to alert those of his audaciousness.  The light was yellow when he was almost a block away, yet because he was going so fast it was still yellow when he entered the intersection and turned red before he exited it.

That’s how it happened.  I knew it all at once, I will never be able to prove this to you, but I know that it’s true.  The truck was speeding towards the yellow light, but was still far enough away that Kirk looking down the street and realizing it was about to go green assumed that anyone approaching now would stop, but they did not, and Kirk realized this too late as he ran into the back of the pick-up truck.  

They say life is all about timing, and death is certainly more so.

Two minutes.

My guess is that is the most you will wait if you miss the end of a yellow light and have to wait the whole cycle of a four way stop.

What terrifies me, what shakes me to my bone, is how many times I have decided that two minutes were more important to me, and my incorrigible tardiness, than whatever caution they may afford.  When I drive now it’s in a daze watching all of the bikers and pedestrians and all the chances they take, and then I remember her shaking, wide eyed, and desperately looking to us for some sort of comfort, a solace that doesn’t exist.  His girlfriend keeps waiting to comprehend what has happened, what it means, and I held her wishing that I had one word of wisdom that would let her know it was going to be all right.  Anyone who has lost the one they Loved knows that I didn’t.

“Who’s fault was it?”  This was the first question everyone asked me about the accident.  I still don’t really understand why it matters.  I have broken traffic laws and I didn’t deserve to die, and I didn’t want to kill anyone.  Light runners are not murderers, nor do they deserve to die.  He wasn’t wearing a helmet either.  Does that mean he forfeited his life?  He ran into a truck going God knows how fast, my senses tell me the helmet wouldn’t have mattered.  That’s what I tried to convince his girlfriend, because she is analyzing every moment, every fact, and trying to figure out where she could have made a difference, where she could have pleaded, coerced, or begged, for him to wear a helmet, stay with her an extra minute, or maybe just distracted him with a phone call, the difference of minutes, seconds, that could have saved his life.

Two minutes.  

She knows what it can buy, and now, so do I.  

And I hope you do too.

Do you like it?  Is it poignant?  I feel deep because I’m listening to Cat Power and Jeff Buckley at the same time.  But anyways, I like it.  It sums up this round of sad pretty well.  Some body at work hurt my feelings and now I’m scared to go in.

Do you know how hard it is to help people?  I want to help.  I want to work hard and learn how to help heal people who don’t have money to pay for it, but they are making it darn near impossible for me to do that.  No not they, there is no they, it’s just that I’m not alone, it’s just that many people want to do just the same thing, and I guess that’s not so bad.  Bunches of people waiting in line to help.  I like that image, almost as much as I like the image of shivering girls wearing crosses.

It’s not somebody who’s seen the light, it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah.

It must be the colors and the kids that keep me alive, cuz the music is boring me death.

But it’s more like this:

It’s It not must somebody just who’s be seen the the colors light, and it’s the a kids cold cuz and the it’s music a is broken boring hallelujah me to death.

Hallelujah me to death.

I’ll sleep better now that you’re gone because I won’t go to bed before I’m tired.  I’ll stay up till it’s my time, and then my sleeping in will make more sense.  And you, who knows, maybe you’ll go back to sleeping in, maybe you won’t feel compelled to throw yourself at the day when you have more personal time.  Don’t tell me if you do.  It would hurt my feelings.  I always wanted us to sleep in together, but it really never happened.  It’s funny the things you miss from past partners, like laying around doing nothing, you never wanted to do that.  That might be all I want to do.   I’m going to sit in bed till I’m used to you not coming home.  I’ll just sit here till I don’t expect you, and then I’ll know I’m better.

You’re looking for shampoo, it’s all very normal, cordial.  I am laying here, it seems inappropriate to help.

Tonight you will sleep alone, and I will not, the dog is staying with me; so it is certain that you will feel more lonely.  You will be in strange surroundings, and you might wonder if it’s for the best.  But you are so certain that it is.

I don’t have to think, life is happening to me, but I accept responsibility.  I have thought and I know I didn’t try hard enough for us to succeed, but hard enough for us to fail gracefully.  Right now that seems good enough.

I feel tired and quiet and sad.  That seems appropriate.

Everything is going as planned, just another parting.

I don’t know why I don’t cry for you.

why I’ve cried more for those I hardly knew.

My therapist asks me if I ever Loved you,

I tell her it doesn’t matter, that you never Loved me.

She doesn’t understand

why I can’t Love unless I’m adored.

But how could I feel safe with less?

They make me feel like I’m cold, smiling as I do.

But I’m not quite as fine as I seem.

I have no attention all my desire is scattered, and I’m sure that’s not how it should be.

If you asked me what I wanted, I’d stare at you, perplexed, I just don’t know, is what I would tell you, but that would be wrong.  I don’t want anything. 

From anyone, just now.