Status: A VERY slow work in progress
Stay
Bruised
The thing about you and me, darlin', was that we were so different despite the love we had for each other. We were two rivers, identical in length and violence, but oh did we flow in different directions and wind through different mountains. I never understood how you could be so optimistic and simple, while I, in my strange daze of an abandoned search for how to be a man, can only throw myself around these four walls and come away knowing nothing but the rush of embracing this swamp my life has become.
I had tried so hard to be someone else . . . I forgot who I used to be . . .
Somewhere along the way, something filled my heart. I--I remember once, this is a very hazy memory, but once we were standing at the edge of the ocean. The wind was in my face, the scent of salt soaked through my clothes, and I could feel you next to me. It's funny, how as we stood next to each other, our hearts ignited and our bodies reached out toward each other, but not once did I touch you when I felt that way. I had long demoralized myself before then.
Overlooking a cliff at the seaside, the sky was bruised with a deep blue, but tinged with a cloud of burnt orange that folding the sky in two. There were birds, too, beating their wings towards warmer climates, speckled across the horizon like pepper. The water below was choppy and smelled of damp salt, waves swallowing the rocks at the base of the cliff like a trout eating a minnow.
The event of teetering over the edge, glaring down at the rocks below me, was, as I recall, the dizziest I had ever felt. My hair was windblown and there was a smile on my face that I had not felt in so long. The electricity of your body near mine . . .
We were so alive.
Although the only thing I remember feeling was the rare shock of vitality, I am sure there was an underlying sadness to that day at the cliff. I was never happy with anything, even when it was an hour of completeness, of my body no longer missing the parts to function well and my mind pulled together enough to understand the beautiful, moist pacific coast I was gazing at. In truth, all I was doing was sleepwalking.
As I am sitting here trying to remember that distant day, the desire to remember all those years is fading. And as I look at myself in the mirror, I wonder if there is better man under these blood shot eyes.
I had tried so hard to be someone else . . . I forgot who I used to be . . .
Somewhere along the way, something filled my heart. I--I remember once, this is a very hazy memory, but once we were standing at the edge of the ocean. The wind was in my face, the scent of salt soaked through my clothes, and I could feel you next to me. It's funny, how as we stood next to each other, our hearts ignited and our bodies reached out toward each other, but not once did I touch you when I felt that way. I had long demoralized myself before then.
Overlooking a cliff at the seaside, the sky was bruised with a deep blue, but tinged with a cloud of burnt orange that folding the sky in two. There were birds, too, beating their wings towards warmer climates, speckled across the horizon like pepper. The water below was choppy and smelled of damp salt, waves swallowing the rocks at the base of the cliff like a trout eating a minnow.
The event of teetering over the edge, glaring down at the rocks below me, was, as I recall, the dizziest I had ever felt. My hair was windblown and there was a smile on my face that I had not felt in so long. The electricity of your body near mine . . .
We were so alive.
Although the only thing I remember feeling was the rare shock of vitality, I am sure there was an underlying sadness to that day at the cliff. I was never happy with anything, even when it was an hour of completeness, of my body no longer missing the parts to function well and my mind pulled together enough to understand the beautiful, moist pacific coast I was gazing at. In truth, all I was doing was sleepwalking.
As I am sitting here trying to remember that distant day, the desire to remember all those years is fading. And as I look at myself in the mirror, I wonder if there is better man under these blood shot eyes.