21/9/14

My laptop's screen.


I don’t know why I love him

If it’s the way he makes me feel

Or how I think I make him feel from this side of my laptop’s screen

Or a little bit of both.

 

I don’t know why I love him

I know I love him, though

And I know it ‘cause I’m not me

When I’m with him but without him

And my eyes glitter when I read him

And he’s to blame for it.

 

I don’t know why I love him

He’s so sad and he’s so weird

And funny, and extroverted,

And yet introverted and distant.

But what had I expected?

He’s nowhere near here.

Nowhere near me.

 

I don’t know why I love him

Or how or when I began to love him

But I know it’s for real.
 
I’m finding it harder and harder to keep my eyes off my laptop’s screen.

 



 
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It's never quite right, he said, the way people look,
the way the music sounds, the way the words are
written.
It's never quite right, he said, all the things we are
taught, all the loves we chase, all the deaths we
die, all the lives we live,
they are never quite right,
they are hardly close to right,
these lives we live
one after the other,
piled there as history,
the waste of the species,
the crushing of the light and the way,
it's not quite right,
it's hardly right at all
he said.

don't I know it? I
answered.

I walked away from the mirror.
it was morning, it was afternoon, it was
night

nothing changed
it was locked in place.
something flashed, something broke, something
remained.

I walked down the stairway and
into it.

-Charles Bukowski.