Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Roman re-birth.



Animals; you, me, all of us were.

One minute you're convinced there's no such thing as one true love, because you have two loves of your life; the other you tell yourself there's no such thing as one true love, because there's not even one.

They always make the same mistakes, the two of them, and you, so they're just you with a different name and face. You love him till it makes no more sense, he chases her, she kisses him, he loves you. There was a pattern to all the chaos. Your shoulders move in a firm, circular motion as he slowly edges closer on the dance floor.

By default, you don't get to complain, or pass judgement because you're all in it together. So you love each other, hate each other, carry with you the touch of one skin to another like a disease in an ancient Roman orgy.

One night you talk to him, till it's no more night. The intensity of a mundane action all lovers undertake kills you. Map-shaped scars on your knee, sickle-shaped ones on my hands. His knees to my hands to the sounds of his heart in his chest. In his head, he decides for you, why you must have Davidoffs, not Dunhill; Jack Daniel's, not Stella; why you must not dance with anyone else till his fingers grasp you so tightly you want to run away to the other sea of men who ask no questions and require no explanations. When your friends say they don't see you with being with anyone because no one ever will be able to complete you, it makes sense in his head. No one but him. Because no one elses hands fill the spaces between your fingers like his do.

On other coffee mornings, you choose instead green tea and black coffee, no sugar and no sugar. Just like it's meant to be done. She sits in front of you and her fingers go up his elbow. He responds to her touch and your neurones are in a straitjacket, though they have no right to be. They playfully tuck at each other, choose items off the menu for each other, she dumbs up for him, lost, confused, distressed. Betrayed. She was your friend, till one day, suddenly, because of the way he was looking at her, she was not.

She talks to me all day long. And she understands that you need me as much as I need you.
I don't want her to feel like you're away because of me.
I don't know how much you need me.
I don't know how much you need me.
Enough not to need anything else.
I don't let myself really believe that because it scares me.



And then, suddenly, they die out, because you cannot extend the permission of loving more than one person to them. One man's love can never be enough for you because of the enormity of your thirst, but it drives you crazy how your love can be not enough for them. With a whiff and a flicker, you push them out of your life because they simply forget how you want them to exist.

When you fall in bed together at the end of the night, you don't see how anything else can ever matter.
How can you study after this?
How can you sleep after this?

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