You Got Away, Huh Babe?

I wish we could go back to that night in the hotel. Although I’ve seen you since, that is the way I’ll always remember you. You’re idealistic utopias, unrealistic dreams, and sweet, false lullabies. All of these things, none of them you at all, is the way my labyrinth of a mind has identified you. At the time, that was called love for those of us who sang, and it might still be. I’m not sure if I would still call it love. Even though I gave you all of me, every single piece, and I needed you more than oxygen floating in the air, you turned your back on me. I know I’m awful, and hard to deal with, so that must be why you got away. I never once heard you say I need you, or I don’t need you. You just left, without even an explanation or goodbye. We talked before you left, and you told me you preferred beautiful women, and you’d make a small exception for me. After a few moments of silence of gratitude, you clenched your fist, and ranted about the oppression of beauty in our society. Asking questions, trying to find someone to blame, you said is it is the individual or the society the individual is in? After more blame shifting and solo debate on your part, you stopped, lowered your arms and sat next to me. In a sudden dynamic shift that startled me, you softly caressed my arms and kissed my cheek (which was a bit damp, to be honest) and fixed yourself. “Well never mind. We may be ugly, but we have the music.” I smiled sweetly as I could, and leaned into you, whispering I need you over and over again. As I said earlier, I’m not sure if it was love. I’m not meaning to suggest that I loved you the best. Who can keep track of each fallen robin? I just meant that I remember you well from that late night hotel. I guess you turned your back on the crowd, which is great. At least one of us got away.


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