You’ve Got Mail.

“Amor, ch’al cor gentile ratto s’apprende
prese costui de la bella persona
che mi fu tolta; e ‘l modo ancor m’offende.
Amor, che a nullo amato amar perdona,
Mi prese del costui piacer sì forte,
Che, come vedi, ancor non m’abbandona…”
― Dante Alighieri, Inferno: A New Verse Translation

I think that we all get to a point where the past and present collide and that we find ourselves stuck at a metaphorical fork. I have recently taken refuge on the roof of my townhouse. Accessed via the bathroom, I pop out the window screen and climb outside. Carly Simon plays from my record player as the warm spring wind grazes my cheek. Brushing the hair out of my eyes, I look out into the night sky. Was it worth it? Was it worth losing my mind for, and forging a new sense of self just to appear strong? Questions dart back and forth like liquid in my mind, filled to the brim, almost at a spilling point. I can almost see the sloshing of water tossing in my skull. With broken conversation and fragmented emotions, I sit back and enjoy a glass of wine. Putting my mouth to the rim, a drop of red escapes my mouth and falls to my white shirt. Staring at the daunting stain, my mind begins to wander. Much like my now ruined shirt, Wine stains dwindle on your good intentions causing me to toss the piece to the cleaner. I thought that a part of me would die when you left, but like a weed removed from a garden, in your place grew another.

FullSizeRender 11.jpgA low beep comes from my phone, and my eyes dart to the screen. An email from Groupon advertising an isolation bath, the death of my social life is imminent.  My phone is lonely without you, seemingly void of bullshit and lost lies.

I crave the sound of the iPhone pre-programmed ringtones. Each ding and noise holding  a different meaning.

Why did we end communication? Why did awkward tension overpower previous emotion and forge a new sense of feeling? I place the blame on mental guilt. Guilt leads to a quiet mind, silenced by the things unsaid and the actions un-forgiven. In the matter of time since we last spoke, much has changed.

In the late nineties when communication via IM and internet chatrooms were on the rise, technological relationships were frequently formed. Speaking to one another via email, relationships were created on a new forum, the internet. With every ding and “you have mail” a heightened sense of excitement is experienced for the potential of a textual relationship. It is quite strange how one can shed their skin and show off every detail of oneself technologically without actually meeting in person. Does the relationshIMG_5098ip breed truth, or is there an aspect that is overlooked? The missing pieces that lead to the creation of a successful relationship. This is when questions are raised and red flags are positioned between the minds. Void of physical contact, can it be argued that we never knew one another? Intimate details are drawn along the body, laced with the repercussions of secrecy thereby replicating distaste and breeding resentment. I ask myself again, “Did we ever really know one another?” I concentrate on the answer. Shrugging, I think “who the fuck knows”. When it all comes down to it and I am left alone, I like thinking about what would happen if it all had worked out. Would we be happy? or would we be miserable and stuck?

I will miss the smile that comes from a text message, and I will fondly regard the memories that were created. With every thought and smirk that passes my lips, I think about drafting a message….

Do you still comb your hair to the left?
Do you still drink your coffee black?
Do you still think about me? 

Do you still cry when the sun goes down?
Did I ever love you?
It’s all just semantics.

You feel like a placebo
Kept alive in my mind without a purpose
Do you still think about me?
Probably not.

It’s all just semantics.

An hour later, the snow began to fall. Snow on a spring day, the metaphorical flakes have fallen.


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