i don't want to get over you.

the boy found me on myspace.  it's his birthday and he's the big 21.  he told me to call him and i complied.  i didn't yell at him like i should have, like i wanted to yesterday and the day before that and the week before that and the month before that.

he apologised to me.  for not being there, for not being--whatever, here.  he gets a six-day break every three months, i think, but he can't travel over 150 miles...and i am seven hours away.  but he apologised.  after a few moments where we were silent, he abruptly brought it up.  "i'm sorry i disappear for months at a time," he said.  "that's my bad.  i just want--you've got to understand, you've just got to wait around for me to resurface."

and i do, that's what i hate.  i do understand and i do just wait idly by, wondering when he's coming back, and if he's coming back for me.

"jesus christ," he said at one point, "i have to get up in five hours and run seven miles."

"holy shit.  i don't think i could run seven miles in, like, the course of seven days," i said.  because really--seven miles.  that's a fucking lot to be running at five in the morning.

he laughed and said, "nah, nah, i'll train you."  i don't know why i find that so adorable.  i laughed at him and he asked what was so funny.  i couldn't even say anything.

he says "nah" and "mmhmm" a lot.

he made some crack about how i wouldn't want to see him anyway, how if he's even in dallas again (apparently he was here in the past several months but for, you know, army things) i wouldn't WANT to hang out with him.  i told him he was crazy and he said i needed to go to bed.

cute.

we told each other goodnight and then there was a kind of weird moment where we tripped over each other trying to talk.  he said "goodnight" again and i pointedly reminded him that he had already said it.

"don't be a dick," he said, and i could practically feel him grinning.  "with us, there's no room for you to be a dick."

fuck, i love him.

fuck.

man, the train is coming through town.  it's such a weird moment.

i don't want to get over love
i could listen to my therapist, pretend you don't exist
and not have to dream of what i dream of
i could listen to all my friends and go out again
and pretend it's enough
or i could make a career of being blue
i could dress in black and read camus
smoke clove cigarettes and drink vermouth
like i was seventeen--that would be a scream
but i don't want to get over you