What happened to us accepting reality so readily, little girls gone from watching fairytales to watching their man fuck another woman and that’s all we got moments to stir our senses and shake our blood stream with and we’d so gladly take them, cling to whatever made us feel alive even if that meant ending up half-destroyed begging for redemption when we hadn’t done anything wrong we’d beg for it so we don’t die of boredom and triviality or was it just me and her who detested anything trivial any everyday consumption of air that didn’t make our hearts beat faster than ever. I rejoiced and rescued myself from this madness the route to happiness required and insisted from us to be completely cut open submissive to everything and even in times when I couldn’t make her comply she still belonged to me and all the emotional torturing was more stimulating to her than any other wave of experience that this world was offering to us whether God existed whether we prayed or not if there was an afterlife if we went to heaven or hell and back didn’t mean a fucking thing standing here in my bare soul typing words and her somewhere praying to see me again and all the mind games and comfort zones we endlessly talked about too scared to cross because on the other side there was the painful rawness of going all the way where truth could be found and who really wanted to know the truth? People would rather hope until they die hope for a happy ending and their fairytale, she finally comes over masturbates for me, leaves and I’m back to rescuing myself from those either dark and twisted thoughts of seeing the world or too real to be even possible to keep on digging different layers up without eventually hurting her and all the fragile souls out there including mine.
2017 years have gone I wondered how many people have come to life and died, had their hearts broken and cried themselves to sleep since then? And yet we were so fixated on this one short year of our little lives hoping to be rich and happy never thinking about the amounts of people who had gone through those exact sufferings year after year? I thought about every single person and what they might have felt throughout their existence on Earth but it was still early afternoon on January 1st and the only thing left to do was to drink myself to sleep but it was still fucking 7pm and impossible to sleep wide awake with this pounding never-ever-resting-heart of mine I imagined her freshly shaved coconut skin I never got to touch today and that amazing feel of her insides perhaps my thoughts about it could transport me on some journey away from this supposedly new year and I’d never have to face those failed attempts of falling asleep and somehow forgetting her and her dangerous incapability of protecting herself. What was a man’s life really about? Going some place to make a living day after day enduring countless lonely nights, paying for followers and settling down with the wrong person because we were either too afraid to love wildly or to be with those who loved us too much, we’d settle for boring sex and beach holiday then wait and count the minutes to another year promising ourselves that we’d be braver this time or that we wouldn’t hurt anyone but our guts were hiding deeper and deeper along with the raggedy of growing older and we’d rather keep quiet than go on a riot and fight for our heart beats and chase the wild.
Down Portobello carried away constantly getting stabbed by pain for all silly and grand reasons they were the same thing anyways they all hurt and we kept digging into wounds looking for reasons to escape to higher ecstasies and delusions, another party another lover, country what not. The thing was, our hearts got broken but they kept on beating just the same and she would wake up alone in her tiny studio brush her teeth get dressed and she’d go for a walk hoping to see me somewhere on the road believing that our world was not so big and people crossed each other’s paths for a reason, how silly and human we were holding on to emotions so tightly I only came all over her face that crazy and drunk Saturday night and she was not letting go of that taste and I am here writing about it how little we needed to get our adrenaline fired up but I promise I’ll finish this book one day, she won’t love me forever so I’ll finish it when she stops loving me. Delirious of everything existent right now every person feeling a feeling and not hiding it I insisted I’d chase people down streets like a lunatic but I’ll chase them and make them all confess to me and to each other. We’ll meet again and get hurt then brush teeth and go to work like nothing happened and I opposed life continuing the same even the ours hearts had to change its beat since they’ve been punched and dragged inside and out it just couldn’t be the same I spent countless nights awake trying to feel every little change in me and it wasn’t enough – I wanted to know about her change too and everyone else’s, everyone really feeling what’s inside of them.
I could hear the 52 bus over and over again that night, another wine drinking night, lonely night it must have been 4 or 5 in the morning my heart pounding aching drowning traveling across the sphere to find her but I wasn’t going to call her I was only waiting for the morning to being fresh-headed doing my taxes and lunches, waiting for another day. I thought why not try to be just like anyone else despite or through my little ordinary madness but I couldn’t pretend to accept commonplace stories of people and their boring-to-death trivial ways of living, I was raging for fire and mistakes if you want, all sorts of things that stirred something ‘out-of-this-world’ big, I thought of her finally letting go of me and naturally failing of course, her fragile wrists I hadn’t squeezed in a fucking year I’d take them both in one hand and I’d forgive her for all the times she refused to obey to me, it didn’t really matter if she did or not because she was always going to be mine and I knew I’d see her at some Chelsea party sticking to me and running after my car with her stubborn annoying intensity her love her pain of walking home without me and the possibility of never seeing me again must have caused all of her insides, lungs and bones and veins and skin a journey on their own, hating herself wanting me endlessly it nearly made me turn the car back but I knew if she could have me we’d burn, burn.