Monday, September 8, 2008

Regrets, I've had a few. But then again, too many to mention.



I didn't want to say good bye like that, I didn't want to part with you on a dirty street corner. On the phone, on the other side of the Bay. I didn't want to say good bye to you like that, waking up and finding you dressed and in the doorway and on your way out. I didn't want it to be bleary-eyed, panicked and half-kissed; I wanted us to all sit around a table and reminisce, tipsy but not plastered. I didn't want to say good bye to you all covered in baby powder and half-dressed, hugging, clinging in a public space with a spotlight on us, choking me. I didn't want to say good bye to you like that, via email, text message, voicemail, two missed calls. I didn't want to face the truth, I wasn't capable of taking responsibility, so I let technology do my dirty work and act as an intermediary. A flimsy membrane between you and me, pressed up against a glass wall mouthing wet-eyed heartaches. I didn't want to say good bye to you like that, so casually, almost vindictively, as though it were your fault. To just throw that "So long" at you and leave you, holding it, shocked. I didn't want to say good bye to you like that, so unprepared, so disorganised. It wasn't supposed to end in a line at the post office, weighed down with boxes and a $300 shipping fee. It wasn't supposed to end under mundane fluorescent light with you all planning to get tacos afterwards and me feeling like I'd been boxed up myself. No. It was supposed to end with a midnight drive to Canada or a sunburnt haul through Mexico, not with a trip to the post office. I didn't want to say good bye to you like that, I never wanted to say good bye to you at all.

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