untitled 2.0
The first real moment of euphoria and goodness is always the most memorable with the girls you loved. Whether that’s her jumping on you asking if you’re afraid to kiss her or the wrestling around on the recently, cloud-sprinkled grass in Central Park as the blanket barely covers your linen pants, but none of that matters as you get a hand full of skin beneath her dress and your lips intertwine to form a spiritual ghost that will haunt you both for many years to come. How it would be if we could understand each other with what we want and how we want them. If we don’t align and you’re not able to provide, then let’s end the potential slaughter here and now. It is, of course, better to have loved than not, but the pain stays with you in the reveries of your mind. So many pointless thoughts of why couldn’t it work, and if it did how perfect things would be. I don’t care about world peace or ending world hunger. If I had one wish it’d be to align spirits with a girl as well as I do bodies. Sex is easy. Emotional sex is easier. It’s the building of trust and withstanding trials of these things that are difficult. It’s the temptations and the distractions that stray you both from each other’s path. Come. Get on my back, you bookbag. We’re going on an adventure and you’re not going anywhere without me. But just sometimes, stay there as I do my thing. Don’t fret, I’ll be back, and when I am, you’ll be excited like a dog does her owner as the keys jangle and the door locks spins in circles and confusing twists and turns. Am I calling you a dog, you ask. No more than me calling you a bitch in jest which you smiled to yourself about. And those few times in anger where you cried yourself to sleep about. Stupid fucking bitch. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. Women are far bigger gamblers than the most degenerate sports-betting man ever was. They flirt with the idea of finding someone better or entertaining themselves with the options that are out there. They go into dark clubs and alleys and house parties of men they may not know too well but is justified because their fat, recently-single, heartbroken friend is going. And how can you allow your friend to go alone to another man’s house party at 1 am in the upper west side! What a thrill it must be.. knowing you’re doing the wrong thing. On one end, you’d be disappointed in your man if he didn’t reprimand you like your father did when you were a little girl. But on the other end, you’d act as if your man can’t trust you to do your own thing, and you want your own freedom.
This freedom bullshit. No one is free, darling. No more free am I to rob that bank near your home with the 2 black balaclavas in my closet or gouge that man’s eyeballs out of their sockets for staring at me menacingly on the train across from me. I have the freedom to do these things too, darling. But understand none of these freedoms come without a price. Because there is nothing free. Many of our actions don’t seem to have a money sign attached to them, you see? You are free to do what you please, but do not be alarmed nor heart-stricken when you are left alone to your freedoms and rights. You gamble on a whim thinking it’ll be fine, and you wake up one day and the sun beams out but to you it’s a pitch black night. Your eyes are sore, eyelashes torn, cheeks dark blue, and you don’t know what to do. You wish you hadn’t, but you’re too strong to admit that so you get up and play with your cat who doesn’t know what to do, either. Your friends are either single, seriously dating, but all of them are fucked up in the head in unison. Yet they’re loyal to you, so you believe, so you stick by them rather than what could’ve been your only strong, secure, fantastical future with that man you send ‘I miss you’ texts to. But he’s full of shit and the asshole for never responding, right darling? He is not as bad as you think he is. Maybe you were the bad one in this. Yes, he had quips and irregularities, of course, no man doesn’t. Especially a man of that caliber of excitement, thrills, emotions, intellect, adventure, humor, wit. You cannot have all these chocolates, my dear, without a sugar tooth imploding within you. Cavities sprouting in your brain, spreading wildfire through your bloodstream like a river in a Viet jungle. Guerilla warfare with your thoughts and emotions, conflicted on how you will ever recuperate or replace. Settling on the fact, that one day you will, no matter what. Until you wake up and you realize you won’t. And that is the biggest gut-punch you will have yet to experience. Whatever pains truly felt, won’t equate to what’s to come once the clock runs out and your biggest fear of settling kicks in. You picked a very high-leg parlay and threw your life savings on it. But at least you were free, darling. And there’s certainly a beauty in that. Right?
