What It Is Like...
The contrast between such an optimistic imagination and reality is almost ironic. Allow me to elaborate through my Hennessy contaminated, thus uninhibited, sometimes genius, analysis...
I spent the day at the park, with the rest of the unit. I sat, watched the older guys with their wives and kids. Some of my crew brought their girls out, and me, eight years into this unit, yet to have held on long enough... to anyone, to bring out. Not Clara, not Grace... not Cynthia... none. But, that's beside the point. The point is that when you allow that candle to burn amidst everything, in your soul... you set yourself up for an eventual fanning of the flames. Conflicting inside... because I know how badly I WANT to lose myself in this once more, yet, I know that not giving in to this is what I NEED. She asked why is it not possible, and whenever I'm faced with such question... I just look to the ground, because the truth is capable of instantly inserting a thick wall between something so beautiful that we have. It's a truth that, even though I am tempted to express, I can't bare to say out loud. I only recite it in my mind, as if in preparation for an eventual moment when I'll have my back to the wall. Yet and still... my heart yearns for her in ways I never imagined I'd ever feel. I swear that I close my eyes, and I see her and I sitting together, playful, as we always are when we're around one another, just loving the tender moments. And those thoughts, when I sit on the phone with her, turn into random declarations of how much she's missed and loved... and just how amazingly beautiful she is to me. She expresses her awe, how what I say and feel... such a natural thing, is unique and amazing... and yet, if she only knew how handcuffed I feel about my feelings for her, in spite of having established a relationship so incredible. Instead of detailing the magnitude of my emotions, I ache to simply tell her how much I love her, and I pick the cleverest ways of doing so... having to choose my moments and not be redundant, because if she only knew, that every other heartbeat flows to the sound of her name... the memories of her entity... the smile, the eyes... the curiousity I adore, everything... her flaws richly outlining the image of what to this day can only be simply defined as the woman who's driven me deeper inside myself to explore an entirely new part of myself. I think of what it'd be like to stand in front of her now... and how despite everything... experiences and all, words, essays... nothing compares. That same instinct I once carried with me, the one that was used to obliterate the first chapter of us... still, so confidently tells me, that everything from the profoundness, to the strictly physical... I still appeal to her imagination. I know she loves the way I do it, from my personal style, the way I write, the way I speak, the way I think... and to be blunt and obscene... the way I ate her and fucked her. I don't care what happens... I know what I did, and words can't substitute those beautiful nailprints dug deep into my forearms while my tongue devoured her...
And while the entire preceeding paragraph is the dominant perspective in my mind and heart... the truth of the matter is that today she spoke of Joey and complained how she hasn't heard from him. A couple of months ago, she was in a relationship which she proclaimed to be greater than anything she's ever experienced. And while I write, she's out with a stranger... paired off with a stranger. Yes indeed, the disparity between reality and my imagination is a wonderous thing.
EPITOME
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