todays' weather: grey.

i've thought about her so many times today that it seems like she's all i'm thinking about now.

it starts out as where's my love, my lover? where is she, why isn't she here? oh, right, she's away, biz trip or otherwise. and then it's oh wait, she's not my lover. she's my friend. i shouldn't be thinking about her this way or this often, she's a friend. she's clearly shown that "lover" doesn't apply, isn't wanted. his, not mine. there, not here. their life, not ours.

and as these numbing, heart-deadening thoughts reverberate through me, i become... grey. dead. more and more alone. despondent.

i know she'll call again, today, or tomorrow, or thursday or friday or monday, but soon. and i'll be glad to hear her voice and happy to talk to her, even for the few minutes i'll get. and something she'll say or the tone of her voice or some imaginary "yes" i hear in my head will make my heart leap and hope once again. and then it'll become obvious, again, that it's "friend" not "lover". and the colors will fade and the numbness will set in.

and then she'll say goodbye, again, and go home to her life with her chosen, again.

and i'll stare at her picture at night, wondering why i wasn't enough for her. and try not to reread cards or letters or emails searching for the clue, the thing that i missed that might have made a difference, knowing all the time that it's not there, that i never had a chance with her.

i never had a chance with her. we never had a chance.

the sun is shining right now and it's gonna be 84 today. it'll be a beautiful day for her and for everyone else who has their special someone. and another in an endless string of grey days stretching infinitely into the future for those of us who have lost or never had the chance to be with our special someone.

there's a song (Harry Chapin, i think) about a dry cleaner who sings in his shop. all his customers rave and tell him he should do it professionally. so he does. he takes everything and rents a hall for his debut performance. and he gets panned, mercilessly, by the critics. and he never sings again, except softly, in private.

should i tell a similar story about an average guy with passion and love who finds the song he wants to sing and gives his all, everything he can possibly give, to sing the song as best he can, for as long as he can, forever if possible. but he can't make the cut - there wasn't even an audition. and so he never loves or is passionate again in public. but he still sings the song in his heart and he can still hear how it would sound as a duet. the words and the melody are still with him all the time, but he can only whisper the song in private because no one other than him wants to hear it and to sing it aloud and alone is more than he can bear to do.