I did not know what to write, but I knew I had to say something. I just had to open up my notebook (it is dark red by the way), and tell you that I might have spotted you today, talked to you even. But you were not quite yourself. You have not been quite yourself lately, Kareem, so I will not lament that moment in particular. But you will tell me it all does not matter, so I choose to beat you to that attitude before you impose it on me.
I pictured you by the window (I can be rather dramatic sometimes, and I hate it, nevertheless), slowly sipping your coffee, but I never heard you speak (except in my head of course). Numerous times I have tried to imagine it, to dream about it, to conjure it up, but i ended up obsessing about it instead, hallucinating even. Do you know how that feels?
Well, let me tell you, it feels so great, with a capital G. But i will also tell you that it is terrible, especially when the realization of falsehood (not fantasy, mark the difference), hits you square in the face. (Have you ever asked yourself why they use the word square? I have, no answer). Anyway, it is not desperation, but mere obsession and a failure, on your part of course, to make my words livelier and bolder. I have always marvelled at your silences Kareem. They have always been heavy laden with words you have hung up to dry. You almost always let them drip all over the questions marks separating us (But who am I kidding, I love those). Beautiful.
On the other hand, I am stuck in those exaggerated/dramatic (notice my words above, awful) moments of doubt when i am no longer sure whether I am only imagining you or not; whether I truly did make you up inside my head as you claim or not.
Don’t take my words for anything other than what they are. I am not calling you a liar (though you are sometimes). But by now I have acquainted myself with some of those tricks of yours. Even though I can’t and won’t deny that you still fool me sometimes. I will not emulate songs or repeat any for you (that is just pathetic), we are not a sleazy love story for God’s sake. I will not even dab a label on you. But do understand this. First, I apologize for my rudeness sometimes. I do admit i have often left you stranded between empty lines of promising pages hanging loose at the end of one sentence of the other, strangled by a false beginning, interrupted by another. But I shall make it right. You must show patience in return, brandish my words for me, and do me one last favor. Stop poking around in my brains (they are mine alone), or moving so much about (it hurts) and Stop banging your head against my skull. You are no prisoner, stop acting like one. By the way, did I mention that no one hears you but me?
So do keep it low.
Sometimes, at least.
Fine, away with it.