When I first moved to China, I bought a cheap old PC to take with me as I didn’t fancy carrying a my Mac anywhere – take that, plus the $600USD I was making a month and that PC stayed with me for a year or so. While in the process of cleaning it out, I came across two writings that I didn’t even remember penning – they’re borderline poetic, but I’ve never read poetry other than Dylan and don’t know what’s good or bad, but reading these made me chuckle a bit.

The first one was called ‘Why Didn’t You Stop’:

do you not see what could actually be?
or have your eyes been diverted by the princess of stuff
what once happened to that soul
the one that would open a book and dream
who’d you trade in for
another piece of the circle

was this your call or did something detour
and was that which you chose worth the gasp of first light
when will it
why did it
and for whom was the decision

not ever did you stop
or did you, and forget to wait
to breathe in what makes you

but you exhaled what was you
and with that breath, took the next from the line

so live, in happenstance of your choosing
in memory of that which you forgot
that feeling of what lies beyond
left when you let it

…I have no idea what to think of that one, seriously. I do recall it was around this time that my dentist gave me a lot of oxycodone, so that might have had something to do with it.

The other was called ‘Could This Be Love’ (I fancy myself a neo-Chaucer, but steal from The Wailers…nice)

I am completely aware that this feeling, this struggle, is not a novel one. I am as sure of that as I am that this battle is one that has cast many a song, many a playwright into the utter depths of indecision and introspection.

So why is it that the one I wanted so far away from went so far away and all I want is to hear from her? Is this the underlying message of far too many supportive clichés?

How is it that distance makes one ignore the horrors of the previous relationship those that do make it to mind suddenly go from that which ended us to that which really wasn’t that big of a deal?

Perhaps this was why I would run. Perhaps this is why I would hide-did I actually realize that time and distance from the shouting would make the shouting seem futile? So why are those that temporarily run and hide branded as unrealistic and childish? We embrace the child for its innocence and insight, but refuse to take on its mentality.

What is it that makes me constantly log on for even a short message from her? How close is it to the bottom when I know she’s emailing from his apartment, the place I constantly told her to go.

Is this why the comic said that when couples fight, they should take as many pictures as when they’re in bliss? To remind themselves, in the end, of why they chose so in the first place?

Or is it ego? The power of getting rid of something and then having it back-when needed.

What is it that suddenly makes the problems that plagued turn into a small disagreement that just got out of hand?

Why did she go? Why did I ask her to? When will she come back?

I’d like to know if she’s feeling the same, or comfortable in the reunited arms of he who came before me; would I feel this same way if she were at her mother’s?

Is it pride? Is it solitude? Is it the ability for us to sustain a good relationship for 5 days that tricks me into thinking that 5 days could be stretched out?

Or is it love? Is this what love does when ignored, a slap to the face when disregarded? Is this what makes people show up unexpectedly on rainy nights with suitcase in tow?

When does it materialize? When does it make itself known from all of the other conflicting emotions?

Why must it be this? Why must the final goodbye be so hard? Why do we have trouble with that word, but seemed to have found the “fuck off’s” so easy?

…

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If the next time you see me I’m wearing a jacket with elbow-pads, please kick my ass and remind me I didn’t go to college.

[Picture of my Dad in his library]