The One That Got Away

To the left my half packed bags lay waiting for some kind of response from me as if they were more anxious to get away from me than to go with me. I guess I didn't blame them. Ashes still covered the stove where I had burnt everything he ever pacified me with over the years. Slowly the ashes and empty bottle of rum seemed to keep in time as they rolled back and fourth to the dance of the fan above. Who sends fucking post cards anymore anyway? Then again lovers through the years liked this tame attempt at distant romance.

They taunted my mail box whenever they decided to delicately place themselves among the other reminders of my lack of discipline and provided about as much excitement as my past due reminders. Their pretty pictures of places and things I've never done, things they did without me, things that were more important than I was. Swimming through the ashes to find my lighter for the last cigarette I swear to smoke over him, I find one that had been missed in my drunken fiery rage. Of course, Jamaica, the last one and the name on the plane tickets sitting by my bags. I had been more excited about it the night before he joyfully reminisced about our sexual rendezvous on the phone while his friends laughed in agreement. I guess guilt had gotten the better of the conversation by the end his confession of a relationship with another woman had been revealed. My breath stopped, my heart in my throat. I knew that this was probably the case, I just hadn't had any real evidence until now.

His delivery was swift and cold as if to hurt me as much as possible in one five-minute conversation. I sigh, put the post card back on the stove and light it on fire. I have my own post cards to send, and it isn't like I am lacking in the romance area. The truth is that I was always out of his league, from the very start. I remember when he spoke to me looking over his shoulder at the more attractive men in the room, taller, built, better spoken. Though, I can't deny the chemistry, for some reason I let him in. Our clumsy dance would continue for years, the games and drama that are inevitable of an uncontrollable pull to one another. Although, in the end seeing him again, made me realize, I wasn't actually in love with him. I was in love with the pain, because it was comfortable and exciting. The "chemistry" was of my own making, molding him into this prince charming in my mind in an effort to make him into the man that he will never be. The attentive, caring, faithful man that he will never be. I don't love you, but when all is said and done, one day when you hear my music on the radio or you read about me somewhere or I just cross your mind; you're going to regret not becoming that man.

I loved you; I loved you in a way that no other woman will ever love you for the rest of your life. Now that love only exists in the pile of ashes on my kitchen stove. I was the best thing that ever happened to you, now all I'll ever be is, the one that got away.



The One That Got Away is a spoken word track, my first attempt at spoken word. It was inspired by true events based on the story above. It will not be included on the album, but is a pre-release leading up to Naked Singularity.


My lovers in the past have always asked which songs were about them, which ones could they play on repeat when they needed an ego boost from a recent break up. Some kind of reminder that someone at some point in their lives actually wanted them. So, to all of them I say, you'll never know, and if you ask my reply will always be "Of course it's about you!"