I thought that was pretty poetic.
She also told me that you have to question facebook too.
I remember rushing home to tweet it, so the world would know
that we need to question facebook. or at least I needed to.
So why am I here again, missing you and misconstruing things I read on your page.
Seeing you on chat and waiting for you to chat me.
But you don't.
I wonder when this series of manic poems, obsessed with your attention, will end.
I wonder about that often
but instead of ending it, I just keep writing them
as a way to deal with the anxiety
of never hearing from you.
I'm coming home for the summer soon, Jon Ross, and when I get there I'm fairly certain
we'll never speak.
We might run into each other
and I've tried to prepare myself for that possibility.
I've decided a lack of planning is the best prep
cause it'll probably happen in a bar and I'll probably be wasted and embarrass myself
regardless how much planning I do.
I'm not good at acting, you'll have noticed.
I'm good at poetizing, which is the same as being honest
which is the same as being bad at lying,
which goes back to the whole bad at acting thing.
It's rough for us poets, cause we don't have game.
We just have words that are too abrupt and harsh for regular people to handle.
Are you a regular people?
I was hoping not.
Like I always do.
But I guess you are.
So how does this end?
You're already over it and probably clench your teeth every time you flip open your phone to: New text message from Jacob Steinberg.
I guess it's just my turn to stop writing about you.
See you June 2nd.