Sometimes all it takes is a line from a unassumingly sad song to take me there. The windows are covered by thick layers of curtains and the light draws along the ceiling's edge's in worried yellow to a forever sunset. The floor is smooth waxed red with a stark chill to the touch. And when air is hard to breathe, but you have no choice. The walls aren't what they seem. They look like they're closing on you but they're miles apart. Its filled with a very heavy empty and you're right smack in the center. And that song whispers that one line over and over again. Then everything fades to black and you think it's all over. But it hasn't even started really.
Not even 32 orgasms can save you. I've counted. It's a pretty sad state really. But to be honest, this is my element. And I do remember a lot of great creative spikes in such a state. But it still sucks. And I attest to the truth that having abs does not make having a boyfriend any easier.
But where exactly are all these coming from? Some months ago, I learned my ex has been seeing someone for some time now. A few weeks ago, I learned he had invited the new guy to live with him. Too soon I think, but hey, I wasn't judging. From all his travels and life much around the world, I just wished he got a lover that has no connection to me or to this small world I live in. Why did he have to be with someone whom a huge chunk of my friends know, is of the same racial origin as me, and is also physically fit (if not fitter). There's that bit of comparison that I heard from some folks, and even if it was to my favor, it still sucks to be compared. Feeling a bit Aniston here. And after all these years (since we broke up) I await that day he finally speaks up about how bland he felt living with me despite him saying that I was the one (first) guy who taught him how to love. Bleh.
Apparently, I am still very human. Next orgasm please.
No comments:
Post a Comment