April 10 2005: "guided by shoes"

i told him to look down at my shoes; study them hard against the dark night. "love me," they said. i figured he would laugh, say that i was fashionable and brush his hand against my hair. but he pulled me in harder, asking me why why. until someone knocked into me, interrupting a moment of question, of potential truth. i figured that the interruption would carelessly change the mood. he would forget my chance to explain and that would be all; my shoes' statement fading into the dark of the sky. but he only looked at my stone eyes and told me to jump two steps back. let us begin where we had left off. "why shoud i fall in love with you?" each word broken through the twist of our lips upon the other. we have intense passion, yet kilometers that run inbetween us - paychecks to keep us far. i rely on coincidence, fate to fuel such relationship. because you have to, i think it is planned to be, i say we stop with avoidance.
-April 10 2005-




This throws me so entirely backward. As I have recently mentioned I found many old "journals" I had forgotten existed. I remember telling him that I had never been able to write about him. And yet, it must have slipped my mind completely. It is unreal to me--the fact that I was never writing fiction. That reading those words I can now remember that memory. Those were the exact words. I know where we were when they were said. My shoes were gold wedges from Irregular Choice. And yet, as vivid as the air at that moment seems now, I would not have remembered that time had I not written and found it. I would not have known that that was a moment out of multitudes that I wanted to have--that I wanted to be inescapable. Damn, and to remind myself now of the concentration of his words--and how his question today would not be questioned. But one expects all things to feel different when they are out of place.