At last, a new message from TJ on MySpace.
So glad to see him emerge from the woodwork. Unfortunately, his post made me cry a bit.
(Shaddup, all of you. Tell me if you don't feel the same after you've read it.)
Poetic, TJ. Beautifully, painstakingly written.
On a side note, I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for you to attend such a public event, while privately feeling like this. You are a strong person.
I was just saying to late_heart (Anniebean on myspace) that -- as much as I wish I could help in some way -- wretched time's the only thing to heal such an ache.
I can only hope for you that time hurries the hell up.
Keep breathing, friend.
One I wrote a while ago... for her
A tie and a dress
by TJ Thyne
Thought the tie,
As it looked at itself in the mirror
Needing to leave and so not wanting to go.
It had tied itself up nicely,
It looked good.
But it was hurting.
A knock at the door.
Two of those depleting minutes were spent staring, simply staring,
Right smack into that mirror.
The next 1.4 were used feebly attempting to building up courage.
"you can do it." "just go" "you have to get out". "it's a mandatory event".
.6 of the next minute seemed to be listening.
But the remaining digit, the single one left of the few five, was spent in misery. Fear. Sadness.
Familiar, these days.
Event is packed.
Dark maroon carpets spread.
Sharp fast flashes of light proceed.
Tie leaves the car.
Tie enters the rug.
Gets through quickly.
And into the bar.
A suit: "hey tie".
'nother suit "blah blah blah".
And then a jacket "well if it isn't…"
And more and more,
Across the rug and through the many suits
Penetrated by the flashing lights
Gliding off the carpet and entering the room,
She was dress.
And she was beautiful.
And tie, hurt.
There was no memo,
There was no text,
There was no phone call,
There was no plan,
They looked good together.
So so good together.
How are you doing?
Good (not good), I'm doing well (not well.)
That's good to hear said dress,
Most likely meaning it, but tie wasn't sure.
Tie no longer knew how, what to believe.
You look gorgeous, said tie.
Thank you smiled dress, but not in a that-touches-me-to-hear-you-say-that
Kind of way like he meant it to sound, more of a I'm-at-a-party-and-that's-how-a-dress-
We match, smiled dress.
She noticed, thought tie with a smile.
But dress just noticed.
She was preoccupied.
How could she not be,
The room was filled with conversation just waiting to happen to her.
Every part of this small chat between the matching two,
pointed in the direction that in a mere moment
she would walk away,
But tie didn't want her to go. But had no reason,
No reason at all to keep her there.
So he small talked.
And she nodded and smiled at him.
And he hurt more.
And he small talked more,
And she looked away more,
She reached out,
And touched tie,
Ever so slightly,
Ever so gently,
And nodded with kind eyes,
Good to see you tie. She said and continued,
I'll see you in a minute or so, The night is young.
Knowing full well the night was young for her, but not for them.
And not waiting for a response,
Cause she really didn't need a response,
Dress, floated away from tie.
And tie…and tie…and tie…
…wanted to weep.
But we match
Without planning it
shouldn't that mean something? Anything?
But to her,
And tie really wanted to weep,
Cause he knew,
That even through all the many months of love,
And the many months of hate,
That those two feelings were made of the same flesh,
And that now, he loved, and hated so much.
But that she,
Felt the true opposite of love for him,
And tie stood.
feeling the painful weight in his heart,
of being nothing to her.
Just as jeans came up to her.
And tie, knowing jeans would eventually arrive,
Stopped breathing just for a second.
She was so happy to see jeans.
As happy as she use to be, thought tie, seeing him.
He so wished, hoped, wanted her to look at him right now
The way she was looking at jeans and grabbing at jeans and holding jeans hand
And folding her dress close to him.
A pair of denim, smothered in the soft silky flow of dress.
So tie waded,
Through the blue suits and the black suits
And the grey suits and even the shouldn't-have-been-there-white suit,
And he hit elbows and apologized soullessly with the maroon jacket,
And nodded hello to the pinstripe blazer, and stood and held a four minute
Conversation with suspenders and tux which he couldn't remember a single word of when he took three steps away from their pow-wow.
And eventually, through the flashing light and the carpet to the car, once again.
A purple tie.
Leaving a party, where somewhere, floating gorgeously inside,
With a pair of jeans on her arm, was a purple dress that tie
Was so madly in love with.
Home. Said tie.
Fuck it all.
Take me home.
In the backseat of the rolling black car,
Tie, silently wept over dress
For far from the last time.