to know fear is to have never tasted it, that bitter acrid taste of rotting apples mixed with strong perfume. there is no knowing, only inhalation and dizziness before the lights go on. then, fear subsides.
the aftertaste remains. cologne is rotting. rotting all the same.
and swallowing the cider bile i stop. and start. i stop and start. and i remember that this was rhythm beaten out for me and Y. aeons ago, i would have told him this was our rhythm, that it was made for us. really, the rhythm is mine alone.
it is the heartbeat of a rabbit caught running in circles, breaking out of a different hole every time. only i have no space of time and who knows if i’m late?
there is no knowing here, only white roses being painted red. but i need no paint, truth always comes out in the end.
and this fear reigns over love. it transcends the borders of us and reproduces in our creations. why is that, will you tell me?
it must be us, the charcoal darkening the paper.
it must be orange juice spilt on a linen cloth. or coffee. coffee on those tiles.
still, it’s so nice to be able taste fear once in a million words, wouldn’t you say?
Posted in chapters of my life
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oh yes, last night was great. i love the way life works you know: on the night you were away, X was told about you and me.
what sort of friends kick you when you’re down? evidently, his.
i heard you have a new boyfriend.
you used to mention his name so much.
and so what if i talked to him about you? so what if i talked to you about him?
i tried to show you people the whole of me and not the parts you wanted to see. i wanted to prevent you from loving a lie. who knows how i fared? maybe you still are.
but i won’t lie. i never have and i won’t lie to you now – i still give a damn about what’s going on in his life and i never want to let go of this translucent thread between him and me, spanning like a spider’s web into realms of nothingness.
me and X, we don’t see eye to eye, we don’t speak on the phone, we barely exchange a word electronically, but i still don’t want to let go of this remnant. the remnant of my past that lingers like a memory of rich perfume in the cold night air. because there were good times. there were.
and i guess that’s selfish of me, and i guess i’m weak, but i never asked for forgiveness, just acceptance, so when he asks and you need to be gone, why are you still here? and i reply because i still care, i need you to believe me that it’s you i want, not him.
Posted in chapters of my life
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