I imagine myself
with my head on the table,
looking within you,
breathing you in,
with me conveying all that I want to say,
and get some answers.
About the mundane things and the important things
Can we touch on everything and nothing,
about feeling and thinking,
with Japanese food eavesdropping?
Can't we go back to how things were,
be friends again and put the pieces back,
The end picture might look a bit askew,
but for me it's worth trying...
And I want to cry again right now,
for what was lost and messed up,
and because I miss you So much
I miss the sound of my own laughter,
I miss that happiness in my eyes.
They somehow went meandering
to that place called Regret Ave., cor. What-If/When St.
and still haven't found their way back to me.
They seem to be enjoying themselves there,
finding it more fun than being with me...
goes to show what good company I am these days.
They like it there because maybe reality is there,
and as for me, I never even realized
that I have wandered into
the Illusion of Nada
Where what I thought, where what I felt
was all an illusion
Or was it?
So does that negate all my wallowings?
I don't know anymore...
It felt real though. Still feels real.
But somehow, the silence that I have been meeting
has made me think, made me feel
that it was all nothing.
Somebody easily overlooked and forgettable.
An imaginary speck that made you blink for that time.
Seeing spots that made you crazy.
I can't say the same for me, though.
You are precious, far too real and unforgettable,
and I'm just here. Thankful for you, for everything
I just close my eyes, since the sadness
that can be seen there is far too real.
It's not an illusion,
because others have been seeing it,
And I don't want them to know why.
I am still at that table though,
fool that I am.
Waiting for laughter to return.
Chopsticks in hand,
I pick another piece of futomaki,
put a dollop of wasabi,
and close my eyes.