Just Friends: That Storm In My Brain

I think you ought to know I'm very depressed.

It is not a depression brought about by Carla rejecting me. There was no approach in the first place.

It is a depression brought about by my situation. Always loving and wanting her, and yet... The situation never arose in which she needed me as a lover. And not just as a shoulder to lean on. I guess I meant a lot to her in a - dare I say it? - platonic sense, but I wanted so much more. I felt like some power-hungry colonist. Yet I knew that if I could mean so much more to her, I would only use that to make her happier.

It was a deep sadness brought about by the emotional fatigue of rebelling against fate.

"Poems are too cliche man," my best friend said, as we set about preparing the logistics of my plan to perhaps win Carla's heart.

"Only if it starts with 'roses are red, violets are blue'," I stated. "I could instead start with, 'Violets are red, roses are blue'."

"You're more whacked in the head than a black man smoking pot in a police headquarters."

"I'm blind to colours, but not in my love for you'," I finished the poem, erasing it from my mind due to its overtly crap nature.

"You should teach me how you come up with such brilliant poems man," said my best friend, ejaculating sarcasm.

"Give a man a fish, and he will eat for a day," I alluded philosophically. "But hit a man with a brick, and you can have all his fish. And a fair bit of silence."

My best friend gaped at me in awe. Then he blew his fringe off his forehead and said, "You're the only guy I know who can so thoroughly expand on 'Shut Up'."

We spent the rest of the day trying to come up with a poem, but none could come to either one of our minds. I wanted a poem that properly conveys my feelings for Carla, but they were either too tacky, too non-serious or too technical. 'My heart beats faster when you are near, But not due to strenuous physical exertion prior to that' was not going to win a girl's heart, long-time friend or not.

As the sun set that day, our progress with the poem was no better than the progress of a legless man who was allergic to prosthetic legs and wheelchairs. Giving it up, I suggested heading to the mall to buy flowers.

So we did.