I thought you understood, but you didn't. Maybe I didn't hint enough on the phone, in the comfortable silences. But I thought that the questions, the joking envy at the amount of male friends I had, I thought that meant something. I thought that maybe we'd overcome distance, overcome fear, to stop shivering by ourselves and be scared together.

And maybe we could have done something, moved in together like we planned when we were 13 and 14, and lived out the exciting life, my high-profile film career, your world-walking modeling agency soaring to the top. A downtown Vancouver apartment looking over the city while we collapsed on our leather couche, knowing that all was right in the world. 6 years later, and you succeed, and I am on the verge of success as well. But we are alone, two fragmented puzzles, without the picture on the front of the box to guide us.

I'm tired now.

You never call or write.

I'm tired.

But I love you.



[submitted 05/14/02]