The Crossroads

For Katey Davis.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009


May it knock a brick of sense aside her far-gone noggin and remind her who cares about her.

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Just who are you, little star? Do you think you shine brighter than your brothers; the both of us? We're designed for a little respect, possibly let-downs and drawn-outs but nothing of this sort. You speak highly of those never seen and darken under pressures of loneliness. You yearn for companionship yet shun the life you already have.

Bollocks.

This ornament brightens not enough anymore, as if to say it's done for the evening. How can you gag onward for companionship then leave it unappreciated once received? Ashamed coward; turning a slight supernova into an otherwise bitter night. Crash gently now, bullet-proof because of distance, not because of durability. Make fools of the wanted, and misunderstand all direction.

To make frank of all best intentions, fuck you. The fellowship is leaving you behind; liked or un-liked. It's possible every smile hitting your face is a lie; a mild discomfort to your otherwise soulless disposition. It's possible you can't appreciate one from which you call a friend if they aren't thousands of miles away. For we cannot be loved as brothers considering our position as strangers.

Shine brilliantly now, little star. Impress the wanderers; the strangers you'll never see, a million miles away. While your true companions sit and watch you, wondering what happened to that old fellowship that once was, before the orbit collapsed. You might feel a sigh of regret, possibly.

As a tear drops forward from each cheek of our faces, we'll never forget you; possibly miss you but never understand you, little star. The world you live in turned mangled once scribbled on with the ink and needles of no-one's time. Make light of us, as we do of you.

We turn now blissfully to a planet unseen, to the familiar woods unseen by you, little star. A guitar sits beautifully in the night, reflecting the shimmers of sky-driven madness. The callous tears and bleeds over misbegotten chords, creating beauty from hideousness and grandeur from the macabre. The little star shivers and quakes on the gleaming surface of tradition, shaking until blown; on the last final note, never to be played twice, but remembered all the same.

Loved but regretted.
A tear for a tear.
/IV/

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You never forgave me, did you? I guess you couldn't, I never apologized. I never said sorry for making my choices and doing what I do and going about what I generally go about. My skewed modus operandi, and that was doing for me as I see fit. But then again, that's how we all operate, isn't it?

I am never going to apologize for my taxing job, my far distance, my internet friends, my demanding family. Just as you will never apologize for your marriage, your demanding family, your far distance, or any of those other things that would be a hindrance to a friendship. I don't expect you to apologize for your choices, for they are your own and no one else's, and I have no right to tell you what was good or bad. So, please, Billy, for both our sakes, quit making me feel guilty for what I've worked for and what I have and what I do. They were my choices, not up for your judgement.


Are we going to do this again? That awful awful cycle of nasty letters and defaming stories? I don't want to, Billy. I don't want this again. I can't take it. Every time, we agree on letting it lie and letting the ocean erode and cover it and eventually bury it under sand and decay. But somehow, it keeps getting unearthed.

I am proud, I am listless. I am a scared little girl. I was lonely. And yes, apparently, I am misunderstood. I never said I was better than you, never pretended to be. I never forgot you, Billy. Never pushed you to the side and acted like I didn't want you there. Due to circumstance, we hid our friendship and never spoke, and agreed to bide our time until everything was right. We have rules and restrictions. I can't randomly IM you. I most certainly can't call you. And I'm scared shitless to email you. Heaven forbid I say the wrong thing, have it misinterpreted and there we are again. Ground zero after everything we built becomes rubble, dust and smoke.

Why is it things are either thriving or dying? It's black and white. Here or gone. This is all gray, Billy! It's different, unconventional. I didn't think our friendship was fading or getting lost. We were waiting for old emotions and bitterness to die down so we could finally pick up what we had left off. It was off in the wings, waiting for its chance to come out on stage. Just because it isn't out there growing and changing every day, doesn't mean it's dying.

I loved you, Billy, the friend I could never properly have. And I still do. I wish you would quit pushing me into all of your labeled boxes of who I am or who you thought I was or how you think I should be. I most certainly would never do that to you.

I can't change the past. I can't change how people see me. I can't change how people are. I can't take back that we all got hurt. You, me, him, and her.

I don't know if you want me to go away forever or to try and stay. You know my buttons, Billy. You know which ones and in what order to press them. You have to quit hurting me, if you want me to die, to never see me again, for my name never to ring through your head, for me to just stop existing.

But if you want me to stay, I am patient, Billy. I will always be waiting.