Famous Blue Raincoat

I'm at a loss for words these days; these years. so quickly the slid off my fingers onto the page - like dancers on the stage; gene kelley on the street corner, an umbrella in his hand. now they mover more like the sick and the broken; twitching and shaking with parkinson's disease, never seeming to truly fit into their respective spaces.
All of this is an explanation of sorts, an apology. i have not written to you in many a year and i hope you've noticed my absence; at least in passing. these things take time and i find that i have too much of it; time to change each word two or three times over; time enough to rob it of any meaning; time enough to stifle its soul.
I had a dream last night. as dreams go, it was rather plain and listless but it still had a certain charm to it. you were in it. it's not so often that you appear in my dreams these days and when you do it's usually in full make-up and a dress of metaphor. but this one, this one was all you.
When i was younger, much younger than i am now, i woke up one morning with a crush on amy grant. yes, it's silly i know, but it's true. for a full three days i was consumed by my desire for amy grant. i wasn't into christian music at all (just the opposite, in fact, as i had just got my paws on motley crue's shout at the devil) but here i was. anyway, it passed. probably to be replaced by stacy keifer, the love of my fifth grade year.
Anyway, in this dream, i'm at work and it's close to christmas and we're busy. amy grant comes in looking for "her first record" on vinyl for her daughter. all of my desire for her comes rushing back. i spend the rest of the day trying to hunt down that album.
That was my dream. i told you there was nothing to it - bland and boring. but i woke up feeling the desire that i felt when i was eleven. i'd forgotten what that kind of desire felt like. i'd missed it much as i have missed you.
Even now, i watch as these words grow stale. i'm fighting the urge to go back and erase them all, pretending, and through pretending making, these words never existed.
While we're talking about our childhoods, remember when spider-man got married? it was twenty years ago and i was twelve and only had been collecting comics for a few years and spider-man for a few years less than that. john romita jr. did the art and david michelenie provided the words; at least in the issue i had, the one where peter parker proposed to mj. i still had that issue until a few years ago when my house burned down. peter wanted to get his old microscope back and ended up fighting gangbangers and, somehow, this made him realize that he wanted to get married. it makes no sense but every kind of since then. anyway, i'm rambling. my point is, it's gone. all of it. the powers that be have arranged it so that peter and mj were never married. ever. my whole history of reading spider-man is gone. none of it ever happened. it's like it was all a dream.
A dream. heh. i made a funny.
It's all a dream. i'm just gradually waking up. tomorrow it'll be no longer now but then. and you'll still be there.