the music never changes

I thought of something. 

The other day, feeling nothing. 

I remembered how much he said he loved Tom Waits. 

That he was his favorite, actually. 

And I know I'm not supposed to believe any other part of the conversation.

Because he never does what he says he will and he always does what he says he won't. 

And I know I'm not supposed to believe the love that was expressed or the lyrics that were sung. 

It's you and it's you and it's you.

Because it was never me. 

But amidst hours of lies, there was at least A truth. 

He does love Tom Waits. 

And he did change his voice by screaming into a pillow.

So there's that. 

That's real. 

Everything else was feigned.

But I have that. 

So I found a Tom Waits pandora station. 

And I love it. 

And listening to jazz and blues right now makes sense. 

And it's nice to have something make sense right now. 

Because none of our interactions make any sense. 

And I know there's a part of me that needs to hope that I'll hear from him again one day. 

But I know I won't. 

He's never blocked me in every way before. 

And every man whose done that, it's been forever. 

He doesn't even care that I didn't do it. 

I guess that's our story though. 

Burned down just because I was there. 

Doing nothing. 

Just breathing. 

And he doesn't read this anymore. 

He's forgotten me. 

Because he told me that's what he does. 

That he can. 

He burns for me in the spring. 

Then hates me in the summer. 

And forgets me in the winter. 

But next spring will be different. 

He won't see me across the room and walk up and give me a hug. 

He won't miss his bus on purpose and text me when he gets home and say it was fun to see me. 

He won't see me at all. 

But maybe when he doesn't mean to he might remember me. 

For just a moment. 

For a song. 

Maybe that might at least be real.  

Maybe I can at least have that.