we are supermodern we are retroactive we are automatons
we are individuals we are whispers we are all you hear.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Suns; Doters

Summer is a lover. It is hot and wet and gets you naked. All the best things are done with summer. Like a lover.

Two years ago I met a girl who never left my head. We were good, then we went bad. I'll take half the blame for it, but fuck if I didn't try to get her back. It didn't work. This girl, she left my life for a long time after that. Almost a year she was absent. I was angry with her, with the whole situation I found myself in, the discordance between us. I haven't tried so hard for one girl in my life. She made my sentences stop short and my cheeks to flare up as I summoned the courage to try a new line of conversation, one she might actually respond to. It never worked.

On the last occasion we spent time together I played my hand too swiftly, burglarizing a touch of her lips when she wasn't all the way ready to give. So she's been gone for another year. She was too stubborn, too strong to do the usual thing that night and just give in to a dude with an interest. And I think that's part of what makes me always go back to her, even if it's for nothing. It's some sort of Wild Hunt for me, following the wisps of hope through the bushes and the brambles for a kind of fulfillment. Even if it's for nothing. And I'm not trying to make that sound chauvinistic, or like she's some kind of trophy, because I'm not that kind of kid. Whatever is at the end of the Hunt, that's what this is. And I don't mean the carcass.

Now it's summer again and she's risen in my life once more. Prospectively, anyway. Maybe this summer will be the one I finish the Hunt. The weather's nice, the girls are wearing shorts again. All the best things are done in the summer. Like a lover.

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