Kid, I Think You've Got It Bad

“Sometimes,” said the girl, “I still think we could have loved each other. But it doesn’t matter that we didn’t. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I still taste the past.”

“Am I in love?—yes, since I am waiting. The other one never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn’t wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover’s fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits.”

“In my dreams I am kissing your mouth and you’re whispering ‘where have you been?’ I say, ‘I’ve been lost but I’m here now. You’re the only person who has ever been able to find me.’”

“Somewhere I had lost someone– so dear or so great or so fine that I never cared again: as if time dimmed, and color and sound were gone.”