she writes me letters sometimes.

little things-
a pat on the back
a high five
a pleading, pleasing glance

i nod in her directions' general direction
and i notice her face is fading
from my dreams.

and here, now,
i should be yelling and sobbing,
"finally!" but

i dont really feel it.
being good
being bad
being over.

i dont really feel all that much(about her)
anymore;
and i think we all know the mixed blessing of
apathy.

heh, well-
maybe that was my chance.
well over a year now; i know
parts of me just arent changing-
the parts that she left there.

sitting still at a stopsign
in the middle of the congealed rotting mass
that is indianapolis
i have proven physics.

time might have an arrow
but it as sure as hell not constant-
the ones that find a way
to enumerate their lives
just might squeeze a bit more out of our
twenty two
to
ninety years
of fame.

its so wonderfully easy
to be alone in the spotlight(and
at stopsigns) because
everyone assumes you aren't.