Hook Line & Sinker.

January 10, 2017

Standing at the edge of the pier, I wanted to jump. I watched the choppy water lap against the stone. The water would carry me away and drift me into another world.

A puff of smoke exhumes from my nostrils. When alone, you can’t help but feel a presence, A heightened sense of awareness as you skin burns on edge and the goosebumps rise and fall at the sound of the slightest movement. Burnt charcoal and disregarded planks of wood litter the grounds, and the swinging gate of a nearby property shifts in the wind. 

I found myself at a strange place. I resented him and missed him all at the same time. I did not know where I wanted to be or where I was at. I walked in silence. Heading back to the plantation, I darted up the steps and into the comfort of our home. Taking off my shoes, I walked to the kitchen. Resting my palm on the granite island, I noted the opened bottle of merlot. Craving the taste and eager to silence my mind, I looked for a wine glass. Opening the cabinet above the stove, I pulled out a long-stemmed glass. Watching the deep red pour into the glass, I listened to the glug of each pour. Putting the glass to my lips, I tiled the wine into my mouth. My palette jumped at the taste; a bitter blend with hints of raspberry. I finished the glass and eagerly poured another. Noting the fluorescent light coming from the bedroom, I assumed that Zach was up and on his laptop. With the glass in hand, I walked to the bedroom and stood in the doorway. I observed Zach, illuminated by his laptop screen. “Hi”, I meekly said. He looked up from the screen and smiled. Moving to the bed, I crawled forward to him and placed my head on your lap. We shared a bed but the distance between us felt like foreign worlds. He knew where I had been.

What makes a man, or more inherently, attraction to a man, and what cosmic turbulence feeds into this plight? We seek out men that are labeled to be bad, wrong, turbulent. Why is this? What masochistic need must we feel in order to satisfy this seemingly formed necessity? At what point does pain become a pleasure and overpower happiness? It’s a masochistic world that we live in, a broken reality that places the fall before the rise. When we first met, I sketched him into my mind and absorbed his soul into my body. I was high. Emotion built on substance, inspiration built on blackened feeling. I let my head sink into the pillow, and I  went to sleep. 

The following day, The wine held a familiar taste in my mouth. Unbrushed teeth and Unflossed gums held the proof of the following night. I felt my head spin; swinging my legs off my bed, I placed my feet on the floor. Steady now, easy does it.

I closed my eyes in an attempt to balance the room. Lids beat with black, I could still make out the uncertainty of my equilibrium. The alcohol had worn off, and I was woken by a pounding headache. I needed a coffee. I watched the color shift with the addition of almond milk, a caramel color circulating. Zach entered the kitchen shirtless, wearing a pair of old blue jeans. I hated him. I hated the way he made me feel, and I hated that I could not back away. I didn’t want a fight, and I didn’t want to tell him where I had been. I replaced anger with courtesy, and let a gentle smile flicker across my lips. I diverted attention away from me and passed a mug full of coffee to him. 

__________________________

March 14, 2014

A voice boomed from overhead and the conductor spoke from a speaker – “enjoy your day because it’s fridaay!” I looked up from my book and glanced out the window. The distant skyscrapers indicated that the train was passing through the city, leaving the suburban terrain for a masked skyline and dormant people. 

It was early, early enough in the morning that the stars still shone brightly over the urban landscape. By the age of 10, I learned to fully map out the solar system and neighboring constellations. I used to think that we could map out our future with the stars, as I was under the impression that the constellations acted as a roadmap for the observant. As I grew older, I found that I used the stars as a definitive scapegoat – instead of assuming the faults in people, I placed fault in the inaccuracies of the constellations. Mercury in retrograde, cancer floating into Leo, continuous sets of lies that I would use to make judgment calls and excuses for the inexcusable. Despite the outcome, the stars had no hand in the journey. Constellations remain star dust and we keep blissfully unaware of any cosmic discourse. 

Exiting the train, cœur de pirate echoed through my ear buds. Rewrapping my scarf around my neck, I embraced the warmth and familiarity of the station. I paused the music and began to hum a ubiquitous Chant. I felt my tongue go soft in my palette, and I caught the gaze of a familiar face. Brown hair, dark eyes, and a shifty grin, his foreign look propelled me forward. I needed the thrill, the high, and fingers tangled in mine. I craved the electricity in my veins, the pulsing static that fed its way into my heart. My stomach began to flip as I walked towards him. It happened quick, an expected progression that moved at a familiar pace. I liked the taste of him; It was familiar, enjoyable and reminiscent. I was hooked. Like an addict needed a hit or a believer craved religion, I needed him. This one encounter had propelled me into a manipulated reality, one in which I could not and did not want to leave. He had me, he had me hook line and sinker. 

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