Meg-coated marshmallow

Clear your mind. Open your mind. Blank canvas, running stream, ticking clock.

Images keep invading, pushing in from the sides, interlopers.

I�m tired, so tired. You cannot keep traipsing through my thoughts, unbidden; all I want to do is weep. My soul aches like a teenage girl�s and you know it. The fact I know you know and still you do nothing should propel me to anger and succeed in giving me that sliver of strength I need to take the first step toward your complete and utter exorcism from my mind, my heart, my entire being.

It does not.

Counting sheep, examining my cuticles, blaring Wild Horses at a dangerous level on my headphones.

I should be past this hormonal crap, I should be past you; you should be the guy I tell stories about over a pint when The Girls are bemoaning their current beaus. You are the ultimate cautionary tale, my friend.

I wish everyone could experience the fabulous aspects of a friendship like yours, but at the same time I know how completely it envelops you and how once you�re in, you�re in for life, warts and all. I�ve managed a few years of distance here and there (my soul refreshed), but then comes the day I get the �offhand� phone call; hi just checking in I�m in town how about dinner I really miss you and our conversations please?

Danger Wil Robinson.

The charm, the suave, the charisma; call it what you want, I am powerless. I see your beautiful blue eyes, I hear your low-pitched murmurs (your breath tickles my ear), I smell your scent a million miles away; I simply must have you in front of me. Powerless to decline, powerless. Weak as a kitten up a tree. That feeling used to intoxicate me.

Now I am beginning to hate it. And you.

But never enough.

Posted at 3:11 p.m.