))
There's a shift in mood, from anger, frustration, complacency to something...melancholic.
It's like a mugger hiding in the back alleys, stubbing out cheap cigarettes against the brick walls and spitting puddles of phlegm at the vagrants that pass by.
He steps out, black boots quietly but firmly treading on the cobblestones. He sneaks up behind you and jams a point into your kidney.
And you end up thanking him for it
When your mind starts flirting with the ideas of a relationship, you can feel the terror creep in;the wreckage of the past starts to smolder again, lavish flames licking the twisted heaps of memories, hearts, and minds. You want to piss on it, to lay a blanket over it, to flood it with a river. You've felt the flames and the heat, maybe lost an eyebrow or two. You know the enormity of the power, the towering inferno that bears down on you.
It never kills you, just leaves you scarred, blistered skin and boiling blood.
Your mind kicks some rubble into the wreckage, hearing it plink off of the pile of bones and stare a little deeper inside.
A photo.
A moment.
A trip.
A seashell.
You smile and take a breath, and relocate the refuse into the distance.
Far enough that you can smile.
But close enough you can always keep an eye on it.
So the attitude changes, and I think, y'know, fire or not, I can always just keep some marshmallows handy, and right now the fire is just fine.
I lay in bed and smell the smoke deep within my clothes, not of tobacco, but of good, hard wood. It's seeped into my pores and lets me relive those brief hours.
Constellations and corn, the subjects of wild abandon, filling every moment with something, silently or surprisingly loud.
So I pick the thorns from my heel, and tilt my head to the side and gaze on a face that still stuns me when her eyes turn up to mine. There's a sense of calm, of letting go that can't be matched, and smashing the fuck out of an ever churning, ever cruel brain is the most peaceful thing I have experienced in years.
Heads leaning together we sit and we smoke.
Hands mingled together we smile and we joke.
And there's a pleasant refrain, switching gears in our conversations easily, never popping the clutch.
Serious to sophomoric, we end together with a smile.
I look at the drawings on my wall and trace the lines with my eyes, wondering about the thoughts that were put into every stroke, every curve. Perhaps I analyze things incorrectly? Maybe I'm seeing less than what's there? A smile either way for the beauty that streams from her fingers and the space behind her eyes. She backs it up, and that's priceless.
I check my phone again.
Laying back on the couch, legs draped and eyes met. The motion of her lips dancing around her words. The sigh from the pup on the carpet.
Some moments can't be stolen away, not by any measure of hate or revenge.
The way the water slides and curves around, cold waves lapping at the skin, fighting off the spreading heat of the sun. The soft dribbling sound upstream, the strong laughter down. Yet she stands there, smiling. A distant look in her eyes, thoughts of...I'm not sure. Photos, pasts, troubles, happiness, it's tough for me to decipher.
And that's the greatest.
But we stand around, smile, and enjoy the moment. Surrounded by the people we love and care about. Hearing their stories and jokes and strung out curses.
Tipping their canoes and their minds.
Ramming speed, indeed.
But there's a moment. Eye to eye. And the world shuts out.
But I still sneak a peek into the distance, to see if the shit heap is getting closer, if the flames have popped up yet. Is that ember sparking up yet? Can I smell the smoke?
I shake my head and reach down to my back pocket with my free hand, checking.
Yeah, I'll be just fine.
Still got some marshmallows.
No comments:
Post a Comment