prepare yourselves for ludicrous speed.

those who do not acknowledge their mistakes, they're doomed to repeat themselves.

i guess that's true though it seems like just another characteristically unsage moment of trying too hard. because sometimes words are all you have, so you go for broke. make something up. if it sounds pretty enough, if the meter and the internal rhyme raise the hairs on your arm, maybe that means its true. then you're comforted.

i don't take that comfort anymore. it feels a little too high school, a little too selfish. i don't understand how poets live with themselves. don't they know how cliche they are?

me and you, we've been dancing for far too long. i have your textures burned onto my skin, i pressed too long against the rough edges of who you are. and i'm terrified of making this larger than it needs to be.

which doesn't seem right. it's been so segmented, so separated. time and distance have molded my perception of the situation. the fact that i haven't grown up, even a little, since we met, means i can't see you clearly.

but the fact is, i have something to tell you. and the fact is, i've needed to tell you before.

the fact is, i was too afraid to say it then thus opening the door on the necessity of saying it now.

listen: once there was convienence, and once there was obligation. they didn't coexist lightly, and neither of them had pale skin or brown eyes. neither of them painted their toenails red or leaned against you in the flickering light of the television.

we are not friends.