Sunday, December 11, 2005

Little Prince

I'm lying in bed and a cold wind is blowing. I get up to close the window and a draft pulls me outside and I'm falling into the sky. "Follow me," says the fox, and I do, above the clouds and to the moon. "You're early," he says. "Do you know why you're here?" "To get some answers," I say. "But what's the question?" I think of you and the fox smiles. "Now you're talking," he says. And then you're there, and I wonder why every time I see you it's like the first time I ever saw you, and how you can make me feel so young and so old all at once. "I'm only going to disappoint you," you say, and I wonder if it's because you know something I don't, or if you're trying to tell me something but I'm not listening hard enough. I take your hand and we jump while a solo saxophone plays. I want to kiss you but I'm afraid, and then the moment is gone. Maybe it was never even there to begin with, maybe I imagined it just like I imagined that you loved me. "What is it?" you say. I want to tell you everything, want to pour out all my hate and shame and doubt and fear. "Nothing," I say, "I love you."

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