"just remember you called it all bullshit"

the opportunity to pay back a man with the same pain some other man has doled out to me is tempting. tempting in a slightly fantastical, probably won't really happen way, but still, an element of the appealling is there. seen from this vantage, his face appearing before mine at the most inopportune times, his subtle hints awkwardly inserted obtusely into the conversation, his specific references to our innocuous history and: I see how I must have looked to the man of the year.

of course, I will never know for sure, because he remains an enigma, swallowed by his own sense of standards which are are once damning and revealing. his loathing of drama surely is a cover for something else, especially since he has generated mostly all of what drama existed between us.

so I have willed him out of my mind, cast off into the pile of things I will never understand, but time passing is really the only solution to him, and really most things.

as for this other man: the snow swirled around us lazily, and we talked of things benign and ridiculous and I wondered why I had invited him along on my usually quiet walk, and his words tumbled out in a nervous pile of nonsense. it is refreshing to be liked. but that is a dangerous road to travel, one that I have stumbled down before and taken the turn of my life that has led me here, to this desolation. so I know the promise I need to heed is waiting to be spoken, but I wonder if I truly have no feelings for him, since of course, in his absence (some five weeks or more) I wondered where he was and if I had laughed him away for good.

my brain is addled by such hysterics, and I wonder if what really rattles me is that the man of the year has pegged me and I am just too angry to agree. but I know I saved all my soap operish meanderings and gave them others, and only presented him with the best of myself.

in case you were wondering: when is it going to feel right?