She was an angel. I was a dispersive shithead. So full of plans. But so stupid I couldn’t even see when it hit me. I traced so many trajectories to get somewhere and life pushed me down a hill. They say those looking at the moon usually trip over small branches. I tripped on love.
Suddenly I had everything I needed, wanted and was searching for – and I didn’t know what to do with that.
She was beautiful. She accepted my failures and incapacities. In a long hug she repeated “I like you so much”. She insisted my disgusting belly was soft and good to lie on. Cozy. Something grew among us. A Morning Star. Feeding on our good intentions.
We left a friend’s house to talk on the sidewalk. Sat watching the cars passing. Smoking cigarettes. We had to talk. I said:
“I’ve been thinking a lot. I’ve reached some conclusions. Maybe it would be cuter to tell you this some other time, but I want it to be now. With no sentimentalisms. No frenzy. So you know I’m certain of it, and not just throwing words around. That’s it.... I love you.
“I wish I could say the same, but I don’t know...”
“I don’t want you to repeat me. I just wanted you to know”
It was better like this. She only said it when she was sure. I was sure too. Any angel up in heaven could testify for us – we loved each other and I regret nothing.
But she had to decide. She could have any man she wanted. She had the man every woman was fighting for, and still she chose for me. She called me, crying: “I want to be with you... You’re the one I want by my side...” And the day was shinning like diamonds. Golden butterflies coming out of my pillow. But it didn’t last long.
She chose me, but the other one wouldn’t take defeat so easily. He pulled with everything he had. There was tension. Something must break. He had lost, but he was too proud. I think he never lost anything in his rich kid’s spoiled life. He pulled so hard and she was so weak.. She was so beautiful to me. I could pull too. He would loose, but he wouldn’t let go. And everything falling over her – a dream to me. I can’t see an angel crying for long. Not if I can help it. Not because of me.
In that old story, the real mother gives up on the child, so he won’t be split in half.
I left. Vomiting pieces of my heart out of my nose. Crying. Months feeding on alcohol. Closed windows. Two hundred cigarettes. Nights pregnant of death.
Today I’m fearless. Nothing can hurt like that. And that’s over me. It still hurts, but it’s different. It’s over.
Today I hope she’s alright, and that she won’t get too sad when she thinks about me.
No comments:
Post a Comment