That Gum on the Wall

Last night was the first night I dreamt about you. I swear this was not lucid, because even in lucid I would want to forget about you, and I would. You were at a bank. Or maybe it was a Dairy Queen, dressed in all white. I don’t know. There was no impulse. Like a high school reunion, it was a “Hey! How are you?” Maybe we grabbed a sandwich or a coffee or something.

You know in January, it was a bummer when you didn’t come back. Talking to Xavier, eating paninis at the Panera Bread, trying hard not to look over at the babes sitting next to us as close as classroom desks. Watching girls go by, trying to find sugar for their coffees. They’re the sugar to my coffee!

But I digress, and I confess, the news hit me like a dead relative. Xavier looks on, shocked, saying “Dude, just bang her!” like that’s all I ever wanted. Like that’s all anyone ever wants. Like that’s all men ever want. Like that’s what men are. Like that’s what life is.

No.

No, you want to know why I do this? I ride the slow lane to infinity because maybe I didn’t really want to get to my destination. Maybe I’m a flightless bird. Maybe, just maybe, I don’t get out much, and I’m hitting speed bumps like aspirin that put me on the edge of sanity as a placebo. You can be my training wheels.

What is love? Baby don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me. No, this is not love! This is the waiting room. This is purgatory. Love is a dog in hell. Who is the dog and who is the hell? Would you like to find out? I’m as ugly as an Affenpinscher. You’re a bonfire. You’re a bona fide jester throwing colors at me like eye candy acid.

You know, Amanda, that gum is still there stuck against the wall from my last dire string pull, grasping at straws to get you to talk to me saying, “I threw it! Look how it stuck!”

“Look how it…”
“I threw…”
“Look!”
“Look at me!”
“Please!”
“I beg of you!”

I still pass by that gum everyday, and I feel stuck. I’m stuck with you in my head. I’m stuck against your wall, stringy and a pile of goo. You don’t even realize…

So what do you want? I can listen to Norah Jones. I can listen to Modest Mouse. Don’t worry. Just lay your head back here, smoke, and let me play with you hair.