I see how she tries. I am thankful for the effort and absolutely enthralled with the knowledge she has . She tries so hard to show me she cares, tries her best to take care of me. I see her rushing around, fretting over everything she wants to be everything she thinks I want her to be.

I am a complex simple man. I don’t want her to be a puppet dancing on strings. I fell in love with a woman who was herself, oblivious to the thoughts I may have. I fell in love with the woman who fell in love with me. We have many of the same traits, and yet they are different so drastically. Sometimes I want her just to be there, sometimes I hope that I’m where she wants to be.

Lately I feel so ugly, like she is not attracted to me. Her reasons I do understand and yet I do not. Sometimes it feels like she wants to do anything other that be anywhere near me. Chores that take light years, getting lost in her head, seems like anything that keeps her busy from me. I watch her jump to service of others and smiles from them her goal. I commend her ability to do that. I lack in those skills.

The chemicals between us blur the visions of what we think the other wants. I want her to be her and hope and I really hope being her includes sometimes just wanting me. Distractions are everywhere and my job doesn’t help. I miss her constamtly and sometimes wish if even in silence she would just sit and join me in sloth mode let me hold her and enjoy that moment that feeling I want for my eternity.


Learning to dance

The dance has just begun, we are learning how to twist and turn to the music that is the moments in life. I am hopelessly tripping on my feet and bouncing to the beat of a song Ive never heard before. Light up with the electric energy that I once consumed and now is consuming me, I gaze at my partner who is trying to follow my lead of stumbled steps as I try to follow her lead to this dance neither of us know. The music is playing a tune out of sync to the lyrics and our desperation to figure out the rythem of this strange melody.  

I gaze at my partner both of us lost as we flail confused, this fucking dj is an asshole, and the song though it really does, doesn’t suck. Finally I find my footing, my girls encouraging smile tells me im catching on, the music is our own and the only way to jive is to dance individually together, not worried about the groove, the dj to be forgotten the beat thrown out the window and our wresteling match becomes the tango as we both individually together learn how to dance together on our own. 

We embrace the music that is no longer music, the clumsy feet now skilled as they find the mark on the dance floor. To any spectator we look a mess, moshing to this slow romantic ballad that has not a note for the deff band to play. I do love her, my partner even if she couldnt dance her way out of a paper bag, she does love me the idiot dancing in quicksand. 

The answer is not in the music, or a rehearsed set of stale steps. The answer is always the right one as long as individually we dance together individually, laughing at the people who are as confused as we are only we are doing it gracefully.

No one tells me no…

Flick of the bic another blast to wash away everyday before it. Inhale the acceptance of a bleak future marred with fake love and apathetic people who rarely have concern for the extreme episode of self destruction I find necessary to face each and every day.

“Stop me. Scold me. Do something. Anything. Show me you actually care.” Instead as the bic is flicked and more words are spoken adding to the story of the worlds indifference. Reality is grim, no one will tell me what I actually need to hear, rather my ears are tickled with the words that haunt my soul. I don’t blame them for even I forget the person inside this man is just that. A person.

No one says no as I flick the bic bringing the flame to scortch my chances at life. Its rare that my words are ever truly heard and should I add up on my hand those who chalenged me to fight me to fight the demon, the demon who after ripping me bare became my only friend, the math once completed would still add up to the daunting sum. Zero. I have become a means to an end. The reason I want to die is the reason I live. I am transformed completly into my enemy. I am now the substance, I am only looked at as the drug that killed me.

Flick of the bic another blast to wash away everything before it.