Bar Tales Chapter 6: Lulu

Posted 12/28/2008 by smartblackboy in Labels: , , , , , , , , ,

Sometimes you go to bars to meet new people.

Sometimes you go to bars to see old friends.

And there really isn't much difference - between new and old.

Because at a bar all that matters is the moment, the single unrelentness urgency of now

And everyone at a bar is looking for love, looking for significance, looking for validation.

However, when you meet an old friend, one you haven't seen in years, who are you?

Are you just a memory? A fond recollection of a your past experiences? Does an old friend know how you have grown, how you have struggled, how you have failed?

How do you measure how much you owe a memory? How much do memories weigh?

What happens when the old friend becomes just another girl who you might fall in love with?

Does she deserve more? Does it make her become more perfect?

And what do you do now that you are touching each other? Do you remember that you are both teases? Both in it for some transcendental fun?

What do you do when all of a sudden it feels real?

When you are holding hands and looking into each others eyes? When your best friend whispers that holding hands is the best way to see if you have a real connection?

Do you suddenly you remember that she had liked you years ago in high school? Do you remember how she might have liked you last summer? Do you let that give you hope?

Do you remember where she has been? Where she is going? Do you think of every reason why it would not work? Do you remember that you are just friends?

And there should be nothing more pure than a girl who just wants to hold your hand.

There should be nothing more simple.

But the years between you begin to weigh ya'll down like an anchor.

All those questions of why have we never hooked up? Why have we never gone out? Why would now be any different? What makes this moment special?

And you look into her eyes praying to see a soul struggling with these same questions. Praying that she might be conflicted too.

You look into her eyes as if you can interpret her.

And you sit there holding this girl's hand and it feels perfect.

Yet you know that this means absolutely nothing to her.

You can't even bring your lips to utter the words: I like you.

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