I guess this is...

          I guess this is where we are: me, sitting here, staring at a blank page, thinking, blocked for words. Gazing at the blinking black cursor hoping it gives some inspiration. The inspiration required from a muse. A muse I no longer have. It’s rude of me really, to place such importance on a cursor. To give a small black line such a large responsibility. A responsibility that only one person could fill...but that is where I am and that is what I am doing.

         I guess this is where we are: you lying somewhere looking at the ceiling, closing your eyes and dreaming. Dreaming of a muse you don’t have, dreaming of the muse you never wanted. No, you’re not dreaming of a muse, you don’t need a muse, you never did. You never delegated inspiration; you held it. You held your inspiration close to your chest so that no one could see it. You held it close to your chest so that only you could know its secrets. There were only reflections. I saw the cards reflecting in your eyes...but it never made sense, you never made sense.

         Everything was backwards...but I guess that’s how you liked it. Everything was backwards, a secret language only you could read. Maybe if I held you to a mirror, maybe then I could read you...maybe then everything wouldn’t be backwards. You don’t show up in mirrors. I guess you forgot to tell me that. You have no reflection. You are not there. You are a shadow. You don’t exist...at least not anymore.

         I guess this is where we are: back at the beginning. We are not. There is no beginning, not for us. We lost the beginning but there is no end in sight. It’s too late to go back. It’s too late to forgive and forget. We have no finish line. We’re not over. We never had an end. We can never rest in peace. We are stranded here, wherever this place is to be. No beginning, no end, and barely surviving – we must live. I guess this is where we are: under a chandelier of crystal memories.

         I guess this is where we are: me, not knowing where you are...who you are...what you are. You...I don’t know. I suppose that’s how you wanted it.

         We’re not friends. We can’t be friends. You said we would be friends but I knew it was a lie. It was a lie like everything else you told me...I thought you said you wouldn’t lie to me? I thought you said I was the only person you wouldn’t lie to? You had never lied to?  I guess that was a lie. They say “a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they're going to do something incredibly stupid.” Honestly! I have no idea which man you are.

         I tried; I am doing my damndest! But I guess that isn’t enough.

         So I guess this is where we are: me, miserable, not because I’m in love with a man who doesn’t love me back but because I’m in love with a man who loves me back but refuses to believe we are right for each other. For fear. Yes, I said it For Fear. Fear of hurting yourself, fear of hurting me. What you are pathetically unaware of Michael is that you are hurting me more by living like this

         But I guess this is where we are...