Some situations cry for poetry
 for memory, really.
  strong pain happy---
   disbelief
    a quiet certainty.
 "It may never be like this again"
 "It is always and will always be"
 Self-discovery
  realization
   confusion
    searching through words or
     finding.

Tonight is none of those things
 just a 
  cold hard
   death, a
    closing, a
  teeth-gritting frustration, a
   decision.  I
    don't want to remember this
    am not confused, know too
    well enough of what's
    happened:

Something has ended -- I
 have ended, for someone -- I
  am no longer the mysterious
   lover, not
    even the very good friend
     I
      am very familiar and
       just a little
        bit
         boring.

Like an old stuffed toy that
 was new once but
  never really meant all that
   much to begin with.
(I am cruel, here -- I said
  I was cold
   and hard
    tonight -- perhaps -- no,
     *certain* there was meaning
      once, it's just
       easier to forget that now.
 Remembering would make me warm
  and soft.)

Once, realizing I was
  boring
    to someone
      would hurt me
      make me cry out
       in poetry -- but now,
         well, I'm writing but
           resigned.  I am not
             unlovable, just
               perhaps
                 not quite what this
                   one person
                     was looking for.

A bit
  frustrated
    that
      it's come this far
        happened this way
          but
            that makes it easier
to be cold and hard.

   [and so, tonight
     mind made up, I
       packed my things,
         moved upstairs
           fled to the mall
             searching for bought
               independence, now
                 hiding in a movie
                   until waking hours
                     fled.]
     -- CSA, 20-Dec-2003.  10:20pm, in a movie-theater lobby.