2001-09-20 - 10:52 p.m.
I don't know why I keep thinking of you
Especially with the CD playing in my car.
I mouth the words,
I can almost see you saying them to me.
You would have a distinct tone of razored indifference
You would syllabify your contempt and look down at me from the peak of your moral highground.
I feel so small; infuriated yet resigned.
What exactly was I accused of?
What did I do(not do) to rouse your unforgiving superego?
I never quite managed to laugh it off,
But it certainly doesn't sadden me.
The demise of what we had,
It's amazing how things that took a painstakingly long time to build
Were bulldozed by a moment's folly.
Yours, mine, does it even matter anymore?
I suppose it does matter by virtue of my harping on it.
I can't help it.
I lie, I can help it.
I can chuck Cinerama out.
The soundtrack written for us.
