The things you find under rocks

"I'm handing out bonus points like I'm a trained fish!"

"Everyone is entitled to their own hippopotamus."

Strange people.


So I was going through some old songs and short stories and whatnot, and I came across this. While it might not be up the snuff linguistically, I think it's a legitimate representation of the subject matter. [shrug] Or I'm making it up.


He smiles at me from across the room, but the miles between us I cannot traverse. I smile weakly and return to the conversation in which I do not delight, never really listening, just nodding with grunts of acknowledgment.

She looks so miserable over there, but my feet won’t carry through the mob. I smile at her when she looks and she smiles sadly returning to the boredom, never really talking, just nodding with distant gaze of Morpheus.

I see him get up from the corner of my eye and make his way into the beyond. My hope incinerates and floats away on the wisps of smoke and heat of bodies. I sink into the couch and close my eyes.

I mean to save her from the tedium but I chicken out at the first second and go to the kitchen. My courage drowns and gets swept away in the rivers of booze and din of noise. I hoist myself onto the counter and close my eyes.

Does he know my name? [She couldn’t know my name.]

Does she like my looks? [He must think I’m a freak.]

Does he like me? [I love her.]

Does she like me? [I love him.]

Things would never work out between us. I would mess things up like I always do. Should I even bother with him? It’s all a waste of energy and tears.

Things would never work out between us. I would fuck things up like I always do. I can’t help but liking her. She’s everything I want, but I can’t say the words.

Why did I even coming to this frickin’ party? I don’t know anyone here I can talk to, and these people don’t care I’m alive. I should go home and watch a movie, just me and a pint of ice cream. I’m such a loser.

Why did I let them drag me here? I dislike everyone here I’ve seen and I can barely tolerate everyone I’ve talked to. I should go home and beat Zelda again, just me and an empty room. I’m such a loser.

What could he ever see in me? [She thinks I’m just another popular ‘rebel’.]

Why would she ever like me? [He thinks I’m just another wannabe punk.]

Is that her looking at me? [That’s him disappearing.]

Is that him heading out? [That’s her escaping.]