So I'm sitting here, acknowledging the fact that history repeats itself in disclosed and disguised ways. Breezes right by you, and even looks at you and winks. It even blows you a kiss..and strangely, even with the wind doesn't miss. History only has to be read once, only recited twice.
Still, I sit realizing that history has repeated itself, tonight in a more timely fashion.
It wasn't late, or didn't blow right past me even.
It was bold, assertive and oddly amusing as it crept behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.
I had no other choice but to look back at it, gaze into it's eyes with the expression that asked: "why are you here?"
"I read once, and only repeated it twice, but still you stand before me, just couldn't choose to ignore me."
His story explained the should have and could have apologies that my ears were sore from having heard for half my lifetime. I've read it time and time before but obviously I couldn't get enough.
I laugh.
No.
I sigh, and realize:
That no matter which story I take the time to read. Whether it's his down the street, his down the road, or even his off the corner. The conclusion remains the same.
Different cover same book. Different singer same lyrics. Different sound same message. Different man, but the same little boy.
Him...he...his-story was the same.
Long and lame.
Damn it was a shame.
I guess my past history was to blame.
I laugh again, and just sigh because Lord knows I don't have the time to cry.
I hung up the phone without a single bye.
I closed his story that night.
With my carefully painted face, and lightly scented body. With my perfectly polished nails, and with the outfit that because of a single phone call never made it out into the night. Labeled him, he, and his story as I did the rest. Tired, simple and a mess.
Glad I got his story off my chest.
