and you're feeling so bad cause you know
that the spies hide out in every corner
but you can't touch them, no,
cause they're all spies..."
i'm waking up to a different day.
it's a confusing day. the morning is early, too early, and is already filled with a moral decision i must make. do i stay and compromise every value, pawning them off like cheap jewelry, the brass finishes all rubbed off and worn? the payment wouldn't be worth it. a question will have to be asked in person, and if nothing can be changed, then i will have to leave. i'd be sorry to ruin this event for anyone else, but it's not like i'd be ruining any hard work done on this--we've barely started--and i'd rather cross this bridge to the other side than burn it, but if it burns, it only does so because of the other party's reaction. i will keep walking, walking quietly; my dignity, my values, intact.
the afternoon flaunts temperatures of white-hot rage. this is a bridge that was already soaked in gasoline and burnt. it was in the middle of being rebuilt, and it wasn't the best rennovation, but it was on its way to being solid. however, manipulating and hurting people in the manner that you do, with such arrogant pomp and no sympathy whatsoever, was the match lit, and the fact that she never deserved it and was one of my best friends was the neuron signal that told your hand to open your pincers and let the match, lit, fall. oh, what bridge? what bridge was there? nobody else has raised so much as an eyebrow when hearing of the burning of these bridges, and much to my surprise and chagrin, although i should've predicted it, theirs are still intact. although i'm hoping, desperately, that theirs will break when you first set foot on any of them--you'll grab onto the cliff just in time, but what difference will it make when you're the only one left on that side of the canyon?
the evening will bring cool breezes, and each will take me back to the morning, which will bring me to the concept of our roles in that event. what do i have to gain from working with you? another kiss? what will it matter at this point? and what do i have to lose by seceding from this project? if i never see you set your feet to dancing, with my own eyes at least, it might plague me as much as an itch on my wrist, but all itches go away. the memory of you i can live with now: i laugh at myself in the awkward ones and sigh at the good ones. this is a bridge i'm not sure even exists anymore, but every time i revisit the spot and stick one foot out, i hear the creak of wood beneath my sole, though i do not see it. maybe i will have to cross it someday--soon--but i can just as easily shout at you across the way, right? i can project my voice, and my newgrown lack of intentions, and we could finish the project in that same style. my feet feel like walking, though, so maybe this is a time to brave it and cross this one, if only for a little while. and only for this event.
and so ends a day of situation assessment. how calm i am, i must really be tired of this town. you are too, sir, from what i gathered while talking that friday night. getting away from you will be easier. i hope you get married, soon. just end this indecision for me now.
"...but you're feeling so good cause you know
that those spies hide out in every corner
but they can't touch you now,
cause they're just spies...
they're just spies...
they're just spies."
-d
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