Monday, November 3, 2008

You touched me

You touched my hair while I was in the shower. You cupped my head from behind with your big hand, just slightly. Just enough to let me know you were there. I don't think you realized where I was at the time. You're not the kind of person to intrude like that. You must be at your computer, yes. That's what I saw when I asked you what you were doing. Writing about me, I suppose. Although flattered, like always, I wonder why we are starting this again. What is the purpose of this? Does it really further any cause or add any greatness to our endeavors? I think we are just postponing our own lives. Another way to procrastinate. "Can I at least see it?" I asked. You said yes. So where is it?

But then I realized that it wasn't you. Someone is impersonating you in the fog. Tricky of whoever it is...they must have been spying on me for some time now. I knew it when it sat on the bed. You would never do that. I thought that I would be dissapointed when it sank in that you weren't around. I really didn't mind the intrusion. I am relieved, though. We are done with the foolery. And now on to the real things.

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