Well, it was one of those days that you can waste away without feeling guilty. On the contrary, I felt very fortunate for it. Once in a while I would glance at the clock and imagine where other people were; working on their knees, taking an SAT, sitting in traffic, sitting alone. In the middle of winter, I was able to open the window and let the breeze play with the curtains as I sat against the pillows and wrote. And the night brought a wonderful dinner made by my sister and casual tv, ending with an episode of Sex in the City. That show always makes me think about things; life and love, mostly. And as all the relationships crumble down around me, something inside me keeps nagging and poking at the surface. As much as I comfort and tell Them they're better of alone, how much do I really believe it? I suppose I am to blame. I'm too picky. Too moody, too fickle, too wild and free-spirited. I can't help it though. I just want Something More. Is it Hopeless? Yes, it was one of those wind-taken days. Tucked away by the dream-maker and saved for special occasions; thoughtless thinkers, deserted dreamers, and lonely lovers. It's near midnight now and I can't say good-bye to the day. I think I'll tuck it in my pocket for safe keeping. But the gentle sway of Saturday has knocked me overboard and I'm drowning in the red sea, competing with the other fish. All I need is one good catch. Those midnight flings are so easily cast aside; thrown back, if you will, and here I sit with nothing. I don't want everything; I'd be asking far too much for that. But I do want something. Something real. I think fate owes at least that to me. "Feels like I'm wasting my time hanging on the same old line. Got to get you off of my mind. There's nothing left for me to find." Maybe We used up all the romance in our lives in that short time. Maybe every love song and every happy memory has been taken and there's nothing left after that because, you're everywhere. But Miss Independent is so determined. You understand how stubbon I am. Want it, get it, hold it. Well, i want it. But can I find it now? Or am I hopeless? PS- You can add these to the list. Carrie, your hopless, lonely romantic. ~~~~for a poetry contest, please send comments~~~~ (untitled, please send suggestions) Such is every other memory I so long keep of you, Tuck this in an envelope along with the petals of a flower. Remember how we dreamed, so fragile, so new, Holding on so dearly to those moments by the hour. Coloring my world with nothing but your words of hope, Singing in my slumbers as I whisper back in yours, Reiterate and recite those careful, honest lines of trope, Whispering to Fate, Herself and walking through Her doors. Do you remember now? Can you picture it somehow? Impossible, ridiculous, incredulous, and scandalous. And don’t we love to spite them all, then and now, Sharing that romantic tale of You and Me and Us. It smells like night outside and sounds like rain. We were young, oblivious to truth and obsequious to romance. Still, through tribulation we could conciliate in fain. I need a sign. This is insuperable by choice, by fate, by chance. You and I are august; we did not fight for naught. I am your adherent, find here your approbation. Think not of the precipice, but of the love begot.