“But even after admitting this, there is no catharsis; my punishment continues to elude me, and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself. No new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing.”—Patrick Bateman, American Psycho
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Slowly, I pushed around a limp noodle, drowned in microwaved spaghetti sauce. The apartment was quiet, the night, even more so. The air was cold and thats how I felt as well.
Making dinner tonight was a shocking realization as to your absence. Where pizzazz and life used to exist among the kitchen, now only reheated foods remained. Like memories, they unleashed flavor, only to tease the taste buds with their less-than-100% intensity.
The apartment seems a little darker now. We’ve cleaned it up, taken away the flesh of the weekend, leaving a sparkling, empty, dry husk.
"Kssshhhht" hisses an ice cold can, filled to the brim with bitter disabling contents. Dinner alone isn’t optimal right now, but sometimes it can do wonders for the mind. To sit, to think, to really enjoy the flavors of food, unadulterated by sharp voices or concentration on things not edible.
Another can does like its brother, and sits quietly next to the corpse of its brethren. Being alone feels good, but it also feels “off.”
Off as in the way my brain sits when I lay down on my bed where you were earlier today. The fruits of your perfume still drift lazily around the room, serenading my olfactory senses, tricking me into thinking that youre under the covers, waiting for me.
But I guess I’m dramatizing it a little too much. The change is hard, however, and the transition, swift.
I’m really glad you came. I needed that. I really did. It had only been two weeks, but I needed that. Like a reaffirmation, I needed to see you again, to feel the light touch of your finger tips, the slow rhythm of your breath, the intense passion of your eyes. This winter had been cruel and deprived me the joy of waking up next to you, but this weekend delivered.
Honestly, that made me happy. Not to say I wasn’t already, I enjoy this place, but seeing you made me even more so. In the future, when emotions and memories will be sold like chocolates, the one that will never be quite right will be the feeling of waking up next to someone you yearn for. Nothing in my limited experience is quite like that. It’s christmas morning, but less formal, and so much more frequent. It’s the thump of good music, but more intense. It’s the feel of jersey sheets fresh from the wash, the taste of maple syrup on a brisk day, the smell of sex and passion moments after the deed.
I enjoy it, and I lap it up greedily.
You’ve given me something to day dream about, and I hope that the kisses denied and tongues flicked have kept me on your mind. I know you wont stray from mine easily.
I hate how anxious I can get, how caught up I can be in my own mind. It does me no good. You can tell yourself over and over that as always, you are looking too deep, or being too intense, or misinterpreting, but that little egg of a feeling stays right in your chest, reminding you of its existance whenever a memory comes its way.
Aristotle once said “It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.”
One of the oddest sensations in the world is the first breath taken from a snorkler underwater.
There is no way to fully explain it, nor to stop it from happening.
It is the body trying to perceive the reality of the situation, the roots of evolution, the instincts, kicking in to try to stop you from breathing, and keep you breathing, all at the same time. After a few seconds, everything normalizes, and the conscious brain takes over. But those first few seconds, well, I find them hard to forget.
Like the first time I felt the sweat of your skin on my tongue. The first time the sting of your teeth pierced my nerves. The first time I saw your eyes shinning, gleaming back at me.
There is nothing to do in those moments except for absorb them, take them in, and let the thinking mind do what it must with them.
Like a tide, you reign control of my mental beaches, pounding and shaping them until they are the beautiful paradises memories come to lay on. Like an ocean, the vastness of things I have yet to observe and learn from you taunts me with a massive watery fist. The water of your presence surrounds me, takes me in, and covers me.
And I simply breath deep and plunge right in.
I have no idea why, but the cool feel of water around my body is one of the most wonderful things I believe I will ever experience. It’s so alien, so odd, yet so serene. The day time noises of the surface do not dwell here, and the only sounds are of those of ancient things, of sands whispering to each other and water swirling.
I love it. God, I love it. Floating effortlessly in an ocean of you has made me. The depth at which I feel, the intensity of which passion burns, without you they would remain unaltered, unimproved. Yes, the first sight of an ocean changes everone, and the feeling of its waves upon your body will be something you can never forget, but it has changed me for the better.
Knowing that that ocean loves me back, knowing that it swells and crashes and moves with me, hell, even for me sometimes, is more miraculous then loving it. Knowing that just as I seek comfort in you, you seek comfort in me brings a warmth into caves and dark shelter, brings life to even the most wilted of flowers.
That’s the funny thing about roses. They die, they wilt and molt, but still they come back every year. And sometimes it’s not the flowers that deserve all the beauty, but the stems. The stems that twist and twirl and intertwine, forming complex networks of tough resilient life. They support all that is beautiful, and make sure that it returns, year after year.
Another things I’ve noticed is how much of a bad rap worms have. They slime and almost slither around, especially when picked from their comfy homes of soil and dirt, but in reality they do so much good. They burrow, and eat, and digest, and balance. The most fertile of soil, for the most beautiful of flowers, arises from that which has been infested by worms. Gems they are, worth more than the most valuable stone to gardeners and planters alike.
I love you, in such a way that freedom does more harm than good. To muddy oceans with dirt and trash, to dump chemicals on flowers, to add maggots to worms, these things kill the originals. If anything, the thought, and in times of euphoric triumph the knowledge of your love is more of a burden off of my shoulders than a hindrance. More than anything I know your presence adds fire and a steady foot to my soul, because I love you too much to destroy it. I want to learn and explore with you more than I ever have before.
Once again, a lack of sleep has me filling this blank space with words spent of emotion and depth. I feel terrible. No explanation except the one mentioned above, and maybe a sore expectation. I’m starting to realize that losing my best friend to his mission trip is a little harder than I thought it would be. It used to be quite easy to draft up a text or dial a number and share things that had been mounting up inside, but now that he’s gone, it seems I’m without a replacement.
Looking here has been fruitless, you just can’t find the ties that have been formed through years of bonding back home. Or maybe I’m not trying hard enough. And then what about desperation? No one wants their own burdens and then another’s piled on.
With sleep these subtlies seem to go away, and the hypersensitive readings of tone and voice normalize.
But still inner dialogue fights and sometimes you catch yourself thinking things that make you shudder. On one hand, you interrupted a train of though, devistation is to be had, but on the other, what the hell? An image of self loathing has no place among watches and books, among back car seats and candlelight.
I really miss you. Its one of those things that makes it feel a little bit better to say it out loud. Even on the phone, in a text, I really don’t care.
But better people have suffered more, and dealt with it. And so will I, until friend and your face enter my sights again.