Disclaimer: I don't own ER, Susan Lewis, Mark Greene, Chloe, her husband, Little Suzie or the episode 'Union Station'
Author's Notes: Haven't updated this one in a while. Sorry. It's partly because I've been having difficulty getting ideas, and partly because my life refuses to be simple. A lot of difficulty actually. I think I've got a few more entires in me though. Jeanie Boulet will probably be next. (Yes, I'm going for mostly vintage characters, it's not deliberate, I just happen to know more about them than the present set, and therefore, have an easier time writing them.
He told me he loved me.
He told me too late.
As the train pulled away,
I could feel my heart break.
The feeling was mutual,
And so I screamed back,
And told him how I felt.
And cried to my pack.
Wow, that was an unusually bad attempt at poetry, I don't know why I bother with it any more, but I promised myself when I was a teenager that I'd start every entry with a poem, and somehow, I've kept that promise, though lately, I've been going for a single stanza couplet or maybe haiku, apparently, I've lost the childish obsession with poetry, or maybe just become disenchanted with it.
He put me in an awkward position though, and he knew it, telling me like that, as I was leaving. Something posessed me to confess to my little secret crush. Okay, so it wasn't little, and it wasn't secret. But I still copped to it. And then I spent an hour sobbing and hugging one of my bags.
And now, I'm on a train, headed to Pheonix, and to Chloe, and her husband, and little Suzie. Just had to note that the train was still moving in case I ever go back and read this and wonder why I can't read my writing.
Why the hell did he have to say that? Couldn't he have just let me leave with the delusion that there was nothing for me in Chicago? It would have been the humane thing to do. He knew I couldn't back out then, I'd already gotten everything settled with the hospital there, and with County, and my landlord, and just about everyone and everything else I could possibly have arranged things with. He knew what he was doing was unfair, so naturally, he did it anyway.
I'll write him, I'll call him, but I can never mention what happened as I left. Never. It didn't happen. Denial is good for the soul. Or it eats the soul alive but allows us to sleep at night, take your pick.
Damn it, why can't I stop thinking about him. He's no prize, divorced with a kid, balding, weak chin, glasses, almost dopey looking, and no ambition to speak of, no real assets. I can do better, I just have to convince myself to want to.
Damn it, should have taken a plane. I'd be too busy having a panic attack to think about this, and he wouldn't have been able catch up with me to say that.
Mark, I love you to death, and I'd do anything for you except stay.
I do so love reviews.