metacrawl

So I got a little bit more mud on my face
But the years will bring a bigger scheme of things
And make a pretty memory out of my disgrace
I don’t believe there is such a thing as saying too much
There are those who like to look and
Those who ain’t afraid to touch
Patty Griffin

Maybe once a week, I look you up, between searches for country lyrics and suicidal writers. Since 99, when I first remembered we loved way back when. A 9 to 5 and a new girl will put those sorts of thoughts on hold. I saw you once, a grainy announcement with a new last name and a pretty white dress. Didn’t recognize the guy, but understood the look. A little soft in the cheeks, I think. As I laugh imagining him trying to keep up with you on the trail, trying to thread bait onto a hook, I, no… No, not really a laugh. A regret.

I’m sorry he’s spending this time with you. You, of course, have never searched for me. I would know it, see it in the stats, recognize the city, watch you crawl through the archives looking for treasures. I would see you spend more time on one than the others, maybe come back a time or two. I’m glad you’ve moved beyond ruining those thoughts with technology, glad you’re not looking for me. No, not glad, but, well, there’s a word to describe being pleased by never seeing someone you desperately want to see.

Let’s call it relief and leave it at that.