I sit here on this bridge, no so alone ever since the end of Spring, just wondering, searching for words that usually come easy at times like these. I just think and rack my brain on the current project that I’m writing, not caring that it’ll suck and not wanting it to suck all at the same time. I’m just sitting here searching for words, thinking of things that may or may not be relevant to the task at hand.

I just sit here and ponder as the five boys head over to Strawberry Fields Forever. I sit and watch the world down below passing by like they do every night. I sit here and watch the lovely foot traffic that passes me by as I listen to the sweet melodies of Strawberry Fields.

I wonder how they see me? How do they see me, just sitting here all alone, void of any contact, not wanting any, typing away at a computer as they just shut the large doors behind me, closing the Nordstroms? How do they see me?

Often times I imagine being somewhere else other than where I am looking at myself and trying to figure out the angle and the perspective I am as an outsider. I often times put myself in a child’s perspective, looking at me, looking at them, and just wonder how do they see me.

Do they see me as me and nothing else, with no baggage with any troubles. Do I seem tall to them, unlike the short perspective I have of things. I imagine looking up at myself, straining to see who this towering man before me is.

How do they see me? How does other’s see me? How does the girl next door see me?

She said she would tell me if I’m ugly. She said she would tell me that she doesn’t find anything attractive about me. So she says. Maybe she does see me as the cute charming neighbor that I present to her. Albeit a little moody and strange, but there is an attraction towards me. Whether it is a small attraction or a large one, it’s an attraction nonetheless.

I sit here putting myself in her shoes, pondering the things to come, trying to think the way she thinks and I have no clue as to what is to come.

I told her I was over her as I have written here, and for a time that was true. I was cold and uncaring. I was distant and unfamiliar. She gave me her plea to become normal again, but what use would that do? It’ll just bring me back to where I am now. Just wondering.

Thinking about a discussion I have a couple years ago about harassment, it just seems funny how it isn’t harassment if you find the person attractive. The things I say and the things I do is definitely harassment and inappropriate. Yet, she doesn’t feel harassed. Another person did the same and she feels disgusted and harassed. I find that funny.

Sexual tension is what I called it. It’s what she has with that other guy. She tingles with goosebumps as she considers the creepy thoughts of what I said. Ewwww is her response. I find that funny.

Pushing buttons is what I do best. I play her hot and cold, normal and weird, not letting up on the charm I ooze. I could tell that she appreciates it as it puts a smile on her face. I could tell that she enjoys my presence on a normal day. The looks, the glances, the touches here and there that we both share. I know how to push her buttons and she knows how to push mine.

That’s always how things start. That’s always how things go. These are just games that we all play, especially when things are just starting out. Just games for pleasure and games to pass the time in between. I just sit and ponder, wonder, what it is that she thinks?

I have words and some inkling as to how she thinks, but I don’t have access to those words. No, not at the moment. What is it that I am to do to rectify the situation that I’m in? Should I sit as I always do or should I cut it like I tried to do before? I’m at the juncture of inaction in a time of action as I have always been familiar with. What is there to do besides just sitting and wasting before a new neighbor comes along?

Near the end we sat quietly for we were both busy in our own lives. We were separate from each other like we usually are, yet for some reason others thought we were fighting. It’s been a while since our last one. It’s been a while.

With this one, I’m not afraid to say the things that are in my mind. With this one, I’m not afraid to joke and be crude and nasty as she would say. With this one, I’m just not afraid. With this one….

The grass is always greener on the other side goes the band with that guy’s name from that album that is invisible; what side are they talking about?

The connection with the empty void around me, with the radio frequency waves that zoom to and fro, are always breaking at the last minute. It prevents me from downloading the words that I need to get access to. It prevents me to get the words that I want to get.

She never meant to hurt me. She never meant to disappoint me. She’s only doing the things she knows how to make me change. Sometimes it’ll work, and others, it’s a waste of time.

Again, Where will we be without wishful thinking goes the song that blares mellowly in my head. Where exactly will we be? I never thought that I would have been so hopeful in my thinking, but I have always been so wishful.

Slowly, minute by minute, second by second, the termination line covers us in the darkness that we are all familiar with. Slowly it becomes night and the stars with their light in history will become visible to us once more.

Wishful thinking has gotten me far in this life that is so attuned to the dark. Again, Where will we be without wishful thinking?

Looking back in the Time of Your Life, I take the pictures that are in my head, flipping through the memories, just thinking to myself; I’m having the time of my life right now. It was worth all the while as Billy Joe sings to us in his normal vocal stylings. There’s no need to ask me, for I am having the time of my life.

The neons and the orange, red, yellow glows grows brighter and brighter as the light outside dims.

Staring at her ass is what the guy is not doing as I am doing it for him. In a little white bikini right in front of him, she stands. Finally he got the hang of doing nothing. Sleeping on the beach is doing nothing all right. Nothing at all.

I stare at the familiar sign oh so far away that lets me know the time and temperature. It just brings back memories that are better left forgotten. Not all the memories were bad there, but there were some bad ones that are better left alone.

The “running of the rack of clothes” here in the Westside Pavilion is gracing my presence. As I watch this eye candy running down the racks of clothing, it’s kind of hard not to get distracted. Not just with the eye candy, but also with the noise that the stampede brings.

The newest fashion of tank tops and ladies wear, lingerie (or linger’ry) as I would like to say. Scarves, pants, jackets, denim, and everything else. It’s a store full going down this bridge. A store full of fashion.

The noise scares away the only two left here on this bridge. A couple doing their work, whatever it is. Students at the local college, studying something that I could care less about, I’m sure. Is that all? Is that it?

Here I am again, alone on this bridge. Alone at last; finally alone.

I’ve been told again that a connection have been severed again. Again, people are no longer together. I was told to start a new connection. That was a long time ago. We are two separate wires with different plugs that just don