memories of my muse

[stormchaser]

I remember the first time we spoke. I was tutoring math, and you were sitting alone in the corner. Unusually alone in the corner. So today, I will walk over. I asked you why you were sitting alone. As I told the question i glanced interestingly along your space. Quickly absorbing your fat book with the words art history on it. Your black jacket lay along the back of the chair. Threads sewn through with the look of soft briquettes. I knew right away that i wanted to stay and talk with you. And it couldn't have played any better for me. Your first words were "my friends are all backstabbers." I thought to myself "why use the word friend. How about i sit. Tell me your story. I'm a great listener." Instead i said "what happened." And you began your story. The sorted details of your recently estranged friendship. The secret talk behind your back. Within a pause I thought "this girl knows nothing about me and she begins a conversation like this." I loved every minute of it, I must say. I was so intrigued by your distaste for deceit. What was nice about our talk was that the subject changed so quickly into something else. We spoke so freely to each other. Backstabbing quickly turned to life, school, art, and dreams. I had such a great time with you that first day.

If I may say there was a moment in our conversation that struck me the hardest. I began to speak of a new cd I bought. And without much thought to the notion that it would strike a chord with you, I said it was about the war in Bosnia. Then you looked at me and smiled. Not too much, but enough to know that you were hooked too. When I saw you look up at me like that I knew it was all over for me. I remember walking away thinking "my god what have i done to myself."