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Passions in Poetry


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Junior Member
since 03-04-2006
Posts 45

0 posted 05-07-2006 04:14 AM       View Profile for Spot   Email Spot   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Spot


                  I wanted her to see me crash.

My life came in cycles; I couldnít handle regular monotony so I made up my own. I was up and then down and then Iíd disappear altogether, until someone brought me out of it. I was shy and then not and then Iíd stop caring, not about them but about how I acted. They wouldnít stop until later.

                  I didnít really care if she caught me so long as she saw the impact, me singing along out loud when I should have been hitting the breaks.

I thought the only way to live life was to forget I was. I couldnít stop thinking about how to do that, checking to see if I had yet. Living isnít being paralyzed by indecision but it isnít falling on purpose or just a reaction, either. I donít know why I couldnít see that. Living isnít being alone but I donít know why I wanted to give myself away so badly.

                  I was tired of not seeing it coming but knowing it was. I wanted someone to see the moment, my eyes held open too long but not looking, not seeing; someone to tell me exactly where I left relaxed and hit careless.

I picked her out on the first day- or at least now Iíll say I did. I pick everyone out on the first day because I donít want to miss a chance. Iíve been trying not to think so much so I donít remember what went through my head when I saw her. I make it up now; the worst of both worlds. When youíre aiming for two opposites- connected but unbound, or unbinding- you usually end up missing both. Iím detached and I canít let anything go.

                  To watch my face sheíd need to be in the passenger seat. She liked to drive and I liked her safe, or at least in control. I looked for excuses to ask for rides but it wasnít the same.

I liked that her car was messier than mine and that she drove faster. I liked that her eyes were bluer, like mine used to be, before the green started creeping in. I liked that she could outthink me and that she had opinions. That she could laugh but didnít always have to. I liked that she knew more interesting books and that she was stronger and better and didnít think so much, but knew more. She was both sides and not caught in the middle. The people I like always seem to notice how my different sides hold me back.

                  Alcohol was the answer but it didnít work for me. I thought more about the wrong things. She said drinks didnít really affect her, and I said I couldnít really get drunk either, like Iíd had the experience. She was made how she was; I wasnít brave enough to be any other way.

I didnít drive drunk. It wasnít fear for my own life, or even really fear for anyone elseís; it was the guilt, what Iíd have to live with. That and the idea that I might just keep on living afterwards. I needed an absolute, interpretable ending. My stories had to close with a message. My life had to mean something more than just living, and thatís why I was caught in this cycle, why I drank in the first place. Thinking drunk, or as close as I got to it, was always more dangerous for me anyway.

                  Thinking in general was what usually brought me down. I went 70 on city streets and then got nervous turning right on a red light.

I never really got drunk until the night I told her. I wasnít sober all the time wither but I never took it that far. It didnít make my thoughts any less contradictory but it took away my stutter, so my voice would be steady even when the words were confused and probably unwelcome. I chose one way that night but Iím not sure which one it was. I didnít really care if she caught me or not, as long as she saw my foot on the gas or the break, not unaware in neutral.
I thought if there was ever a crash the guilt would be the worst. I was right. We were bent and twisted like metal would be and each gasp was broken glass.

That was a lie. Not about the guilt, or the thought, but the choice. None of it happened.  I called her but I didnít tell her; I was still half-sober. I lie like that sometimes, a lot, when there isnít really a reason. I wanted an ending that had a point, was tangible, a yes or no. Iíd have to be brave enough to ask the question first.

                  Imagine two cars speeding in opposite directions.
Did you see them driving away from each other? I used to, too. Maybe it would be different if they were facing each other at the start. Opposite directions could bring them together, then.
Everything in me is turned around and looking to go its own way, but maybe if the differences line up I can get the one answer Iím looking for.
Itís telling me to go for you but I canít. I want it to mean more than this but it doesnít.
                   I wish I could see which way youíre facing.

I've only been writing for a few months and am looking to improve; any criticism or comments would really be apprectiated. Thanks!

© Copyright 2006 Lauren - All Rights Reserved
since 12-15-2005
Posts 222

1 posted 05-07-2006 09:24 PM       View Profile for Clang   Email Clang   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Clang

Interesting piece.  I read it this morning and decided to think about it before responding.
At first I thought it was about alcholism and the two relationships the man had.  One with a girl, the other with alchohol.
Now I see more.  It maybe isn't so much about the booze as it is the relationship.
I am still confused about the point, but maybe if I read it again later I will see something different.
Junior Member
since 03-04-2006
Posts 45

2 posted 05-07-2006 10:50 PM       View Profile for Spot   Email Spot   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Spot

Thanks for replying. When I posted it last night it seemed much clearer, but then it was 130 here.

I was trying to use driving to parallel the way I approach things; being either overly cautious or not thinking at all. That was where the alcohol came in, more to represent a way that I act than real. I do drink sometimes, but I am not an alcoholic. Parts of the story became more personal than I intended when I started writing though, the drinking more real than figurative as the whole thing became less about just me and more about feelings I have for a friend of mine.

Sorry if it became confusing. I tend to write as the thoughts develop, just to see how ideas fit together and lead to new ones, so it may have been hard to follow. Thank you for reading though, and any suggestions youíd have for improving the clarity would be appreciated.
Junior Member
since 04-06-2006
Posts 36

3 posted 05-18-2006 09:24 AM       View Profile for DavidTheLion   Email DavidTheLion   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for DavidTheLion

Holy "crap" that was really good...! You know how to write, thats for sure. I like the easy flow to it, it just poured out word after word, no snags. The last time I read something that made me feel like "I was sliding down sugar water" was something by dean koontz (a mini-story I forgot the title sadly).

I will read it again to get some more out of it, but for my 1st pass at it, its so fluid, and personal. I really like the italics too, like a 2nd wave of consciousness or something...
since 05-12-2006
Posts 91
Mesa, Az

4 posted 12-20-2014 05:06 AM       View Profile for Fabiani   Email Fabiani   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Fabiani

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