Impressing Impressions

The guy behind me is trying to impress the female across him. Haha!

I’ve found that the females who are impressed with what you say about yourself are not worth impressing. The females who are impressed with what you’re NOT saying are either dangerous or stupid – dangerous if they’re right and stupid if they’re wrong.

It goes the same for guys I guess.

I feel evil for eavesdropping. But it isn’t really eavesdropping if the guy talks loud enough for the whole cafe to hear. It’s simply hearing.

Making Sense
In the lamp-lit cafe
We search for reasons
To somehow win
Our significance

On the dark wooden chairs
We solve our problems
By finding answers
To all equations

But against the dying sun
We try to remember
The things we missed
And lost forever

Hero and Leander

Shine your light
I’m diving into darkness
My north star
Guide me through the night

Where’s the fire?
I tread on blind
Losing Strength
But buoyed by desire

Show me a sign
A glimmer, a sparkle
Something to hope for
That waits to be mine

Now I sink
Pulled by the ghosts of the sea
Into the wet death that awaits
I search for you
Find nothing
With my last blink

The Bench

For a forgetful guy I seem to remember quite vividly. I remember a bench, wooden with an iron base and iron handles. I remember sitting on one, and beside me cried the female I liked most. She cried and cried, and cried, and cried, and I, the idiot, did not know what to do. I remember looking at her, amazed that someone could cry so much, and horrified that I could cause so much pain. I remember that her eyes were even smaller than usual, her face a little more pale. She had never looked more disheveled and more vulnerable. She had never looked more beautiful.

Fast-forward to today, and I’m writing this while sitting on another bench, one not very different from that old bench on a rock. There’s no one crying now, but beside me is her ghost, with the ghosts of all the others. Through the years the benches have been different, stone instead of wood, the front seats of a car, the backseat too, the corner of a bed, a variety of couches, and a rooftop ledge. And while the places and faces have changed, and many things unsaid now lost and forgotten, still the memory of her pain remains.