Sonny vs. Mario vs. MV

Then there was the time
we were half-drunk in my room
sharing not-so-secret secrets
while trying to be coy.

She was sitting Indian style
in front of my tallest bookshelf.
I loved the inanimate object far more.

"I keep money stashed in one
of those books right in front of you,"
I blurted with a sad sense of pride
in my oh-so-tortured savings method.

The truth was that I used to
keep a hundred-and-a-half in there
but would always forget whether or not
I'd used it or not when I'd flip through
the pages and find them empty.
In an attempt to organize my system
I left a piece of paper in there
to write the date and amount of money
hidden within the binding to help me
keep track; that didn't seem to work
for some unknown reason, either.
In reality I'd given up on the emergency money
philosophy since I couldn't keep track of it
and it usually wound up being spent
halfway through a drunken night
on something that was very temporary--
almost as temporary as that romantic endeavour
would turn out to be.

"Can you guess which one?" I asked.
I wanted to know if she could figure it out based on the title
which I naturally found very appropriate.
Well, it was more than that--
I wanted to see if she understood my way of thinking
or not. That's all I've ever really sought in another:
understanding, even when I don't understand myself.
A tall order for a short temper.
I guess that's why I vent here instead.

Her hand moved from left to right across the backs
of the books, stopping in front of the wrong one.
I forget which book it was now, even after glancing to my right
but that doesn't matter anyway.
It was wrong. Dead wrong.
Unforgiven.

"No, no. That's not it!" I pleaded with fate.
It seemed that none of them would ever
pull that sword from that stone.
" 'The Terrible Hours' is where I keep it. As in
I'd need money in times of despair. It makes
perfect sense. Don't you get it?"

She didn't. She just looked at me with those
big doe eyes as if to let me down easy, her head
cocked to one side like a confused puppy.
I was crazy and expected someone else to be, too.
One would have to be to go down with this ship.
That's what that book was about, actually; a submarine
that sank to the bottom of the Atlantic
with its crewmen trapped inside.
They got them out, otherwise it wouldn't have made
for very good sales at the bookstores.
Most people still need happy endings
and though I hate to admit it
I'm hoping for one myself.

So I'm asking you now:
Are you crazy enough?