Monday, September 26, 2005

A letter to #

We've met. We were casually introduced by a mutual acquaintance. You have passed me by the halls for more than a year now, I have occasionally caught you standing in the parking lot, getting your usual whiff of the menthols or lights (of which flavor, i am not in the least certain, perhaps you might even go for the reds), during worknights.

In the unlikely event that your attention is caught, you may notice that when we meet, my stare slides beyond you to focus on the road. You may have given it a passing thought that when we happen to cross paths, i may not give the cursory greeting and ignore you completely.
Veiwed from a visual aspect, you are nothing to me, just a temporary face, just a fleeting soul.

I am lying of course. I work my way through the rigors of life by posing and playacting. everything I represent is a big fat lie.
Should you turn your head when you pass by me, you would catch me, unabashed, staring at your back. Should you stay a while and observe, you would know that I don't actually smoke but spend time in your smoking area just the same.

It's funny how those we usually think are meant for us, those we feel are perfect and destined for our ever-searching souls end up with those who we know are completely and utterly undeserving. God bless them lucky souls.
Perchance you speak to me, I will appear unmoved. In the impossible event that one day we might exchange a word, I will look apathetic.

Everything's a lie of course.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Freshening up the place
New logo, new column array, same content. I thought the blog needed a little dusting off.
Howdy, I was just checking out some new blogs and found yours! If you are interested, go see my new jersey car dealer related site. I think you'll find it quite informative!

Ashley Riot said...

Ah yes...my ever growing army of the wretched spurned...how they have grown...

"I have seen thy sly glances and heard your giggles as you pass the hallway...she is mine, i tell you!" sayeth the foot-looking boyfriend. But lo! The sharks swim ever closer swirling about the hapless maiden whose hair is drenched in smoke. The foot-looking fiend has met his match. A mere fish, or so it seems.

-- The Jedi Chronicles, Chapter 7 The Fall of the Foot-looking Fiend.