She strums on her ukelele singing to a lost love that will never knock again on her door. And why? Because he is a jerk.
“She sits down in a stiff chair….telling you it’s okay to cry, but he just sits and stares…”
Strumming and strumming the same pattern expecting a different reaction and response between her fingers and the atoms floating around de-materializing her body. It explodes everywhere and her matter interacts with mine. I remember feeling that way. Feeling weightless and like things were coming to an end. I want to tell her it’s going to be okay, but I know she won’t believe me.
I want to slap her and tell her to snap out of it, but I know it’s a necessary pain…this heart ache. She sings to him and somewhere in Oregon he’s not giving a f**k, and he’s probably with another woman or touching himself or laughing with his friends while he plays some video game online. Internet junkies and lovesick girls are always a combination for disaster.
I sit beside her typing on this laptop and wishing I could go back in time and talk to myself, and tell that young Lis — hey, you’re going to be okay. Stop freaking out over someone who didn’t know how to value your love. Move on.
The Ukelele girl and me, we’re roommates now. She is me from eight years ago, and I am sitting here with a bad knee and thinking about the boy who broke my heart, and she’s singing about it.