Subject: tangled love of poets

From: (the tentmaker)
Organization: the catatonic poets society
Date: 6 Jun 1995 08:58:46 GMT

This was one of those picturesque summer evenings. The ones I wish I could have every night. It was perfect, the ice cream a little too rich, the muggy air wispering of rain to us in the parking lot of the dairy bar. Perfect-- except for the still, soft and heavy sadness I still feel from losing you. There was a teenage awkwardness to my speech at times, a dull teenage burning in my chest and stomach.

We talked and talked about nothing: Things you had told me before during conversations you forgot, but I remember. Sometimes I wonder if you remember falling asleep with your head on my bare chest. Sometimes I wonder if you discard those memories just to make sure your life stays uncomplicated, untouched by the tangled love of poets.

Sometimes the hurt is rank within me, but tonight the sadness was a fine, syrupy thing. I carried it beside you with a sad smile that you did not notice in the murcury lights. I wish I could give you a taste of that thick sadness that sticks to the insides of my rib cage when I am feeling serene. Maybe then, even though you would ignore it in Southern, polite fashion; even though I would never see an outward sign that it affected your life; maybe then you would know the kind of strength it takes to love someone and let them go. No fight, no tears-- not shared ones-- only the feeling that beams through my eyes whenever I look at you.

I make it a point to make sure pure love shows in my eyes when I look at you. It's been a mystery to me, all this time, whether or not you ever noticed it. The tangled, undulating love I feel for you and your uncomplicated soul.

-Omar, the tentmaker

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