Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Ashes to Ashes

Do you remember the first time we really talked on the phone, dark at night and you all nervous?
How is it I could make you nervous?
My eyes were closed so I could concentrate on your voice, because reception is bad these days.
I listened to your banality and boredom, your affected nonchalance, your way of intimidating men.
It wasn't love. It wasn't lust. It was just openness to something we shared together.
We both destroyed things, great things, for the chance of something sultry, something sensual, something all the more ours because we broke the rules, those deep rules behind the laws and the vows, to have something we know was our choice.
We weren't motivated by anything great, transcendent, virtuous, all the things people honor or respect.
It always seemed we both found each other like worms, seeking slime and earth and dirt and the cool.

I read your work. I read it from time to time. I think about what might have been, and I know the choice I made was the right one. It's just not the one where I learned something about finding corruption beautiful.

You didn't break my heart.
Neither of us got that far.
I didn't break your heart.
Neither of us had hearts to give.

Clearly, it's better this way. At least, that's what I'm supposed to say, but it's hard to live up to the ideals we set for ourselves when the alternatives, so many ways to go wrong, all reveal something of our rebellion.

I'll remember the last time I saw you, the last time I touched you, the last time I told you that time is the last time. It's what adults do. Remember, and not fantasize.

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Is this wise?
Is this yours?
Is this love?

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