Bent Words

Bent Words

December 04, 2008

I hate that you're not here.

Not here here as in here in this world here because you are, in fact, here in that sense which is absolutely outstanding if not somewhat improbable but here, as in, right the F here, here.

(Sense making Laura has left the building.)

I hate it. 'Cause I need it right now.

The way I felt when I was with you, in a crowd or suddenly (stunningly) alone together. How you made me feel nervous and comfortable all at the same time, like a shocking warmth electrifying my entire body. I remember it because it never faded, four years down the road together and right on down to now. (And that's not fair that I feel that way still so I hate that, too.)

I need there to be a reason why I'm staying late after work -- something to look forward to. I'm tired of Tom answering the damned phones an hour after we've closed just because I'm still there, as though I had nothing better planned for the latter half of my sunny Saturday, only to tell someone that they can't pick up a battery at 6pm 'cause we already closed two and a half hours ago. It's not what it once was, working late or just being there late, because there's no one there to make it bearable. I need you to be there, still working too, holding that second beer in your hand which was likely for yourself but ready to be given up for me in exchange for a mere sigh and a smile. I'd build the biggest damned garage with my own hands if it meant that I could have that again. (And that's unrealistic, I guess. I hate that.)

I need there to be an ear to hear my stories, to understand my stories. Let me tell you about my trials and tribulations in the sales office... Let me tell you about the new Chuck (perhaps worse than the original) and how he yelled at me for listing a bike on eBay as a 2005 when it was really a 2004 (and guess who told me it was a 2005 in the first place?!). Let me tell you all about it... and then you tell me -- we'll trade.

I need there to be some answers. Tell me if the after market clutch kits include both steel and friction discs as well as springs and where the hell I get the damned gasket from (OEM or can I get that after market, too?). What all goes in a top end kit again? I get the physical difference between an o-ring chain and an x-ring chain but why would someone choose one over the other? Isn't x-ring better? And why do they call them boots when they look nothing like boots? How do I install my new front sprocket?! (Someone else has to help me and I hate that.)

I need a moment on a country road, bike by bike, with someone I trust and here I am, riding every mile solo. I stop to get a closer look at the dome of trees covering the road wishing you were there. I stop to take a break after nearly meshing myself with a damned deer and there's no one there to feel my adrenaline or call it a close one. There's no one to claim my fire or feel my fury or taste my adoration (and, you know, I hate that). Still, I'm always looking for you out of the corner of my eye.

I need that kiss -- most desperately. (Most seriously.) It's been way too long (since I've been kissed like that). The spill-me-over seduction, the softly falling fingers with all the air in the world that you just cannot seem to catch a breath of, the magic of that specific moment -- DAMN.

The way we fit, the way we felt. We didn't have to be doing anything to feel like we were doing something but we were. We just were. Something. I need that. But you're not here.

And I hate that.

A lot.

Written at 9:20 p.m.