-

***
I once had a girl,
Or should I say
She once had me.
She showed me her room,
Isn't it good?
Norwegian wood.
She asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere,
So I looked around and I noticed there wasn't a chair.
I sat on a rug
Biding my time,
Drinking her wine.
We talked until two,
And then she said,'It's time for bed'.
She told me she worked in the morning and started to laugh,
I told her I didn't, and crawled off to sleep in the bath.
And when I awoke,
I was alone,
This bird has flown,
So I lit a fire,
Isn't it good?
Norwegian wood.

***

It's so obvious I like her. Well, so much for mutual exclusivity and falling victim to the whole "He likes her... and I like his her" paradigm. I guess that's what I have become; for once I think I fit some stereotype. The irony is sickening.

My head constantly loops images of us. Strange that they are of us arguing, of us discussing weird English words, of us dissecting the lyrics to Pearl Jam... of us constantly agreeing to disagree. Yes, unadvisedly, even "Black". Who else can boast of being hugged in front of engineering undergrads? Who else can tell you that they can make someone feel better by singing Britney Spears? Who else can make a born and bred vegetarian crave for pepper crab... at 3 in the morning?

I look at my new new cell phone. It still says I have no messages. You want to call her; but you don't really want to intrude on her or hear some lady tell you that your call is waiting. She tells you she can't switch calls, but why would she? You put the phone back down. She gave me a chance to be her friend and God knows I don't want to end up breaking and trampling down her carefully constructed privacy.

But then, we also talk. A lot. I act tough. She sees right through me. She laughs. With me and at me. She doesn't giggle. She laughs throatily. She "ish"-es me. I talk about a million things, I flit from topic to topic scared to stick to one. I tell her I came up with another guitar riff. She gets enthusiastic, but she forgets. She tells me of her partaking in drunken revelry with him. You instantly wish you were too... drunk and forgetful.

I want to help her in every way I can. But then, how dare I. I also realize, my helping her will be as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike. You offer anyway. You also silently withdraw. She barely notices. I create this steely exterior and smile on the outside.I bleed.

It all makes sense now. Chocolate, flowers, long walks on the beach, satin sashes and snow flakes on noses. Perfect sense really.

Maybe someone will bleed for me. But what good would that do?