Tight

It’s too late or too early and I’m in a mood so we are ignoring each other and when we get like this the only thing to do is seal myself off to write behind closed doors. People make me nauseous and even though I’m sure it’s just as much me as it is them, cocooning myself inside the darkness of my own mind is how I deal with the seemingly constant onslaught of other people’s neuroses. When did we become so competitive? When did we become so paranoid and cruel? Why does everyone say one thing when they mean another? Why do we hide what we want so desperately to expose? As I light a candle at the foot of the blue virgin statue among my random collection of mysterious talismans and various house plants, the flickering flame twinkles and reflects on the crystals which adorn a taller faux candle close by. My grandmother, terrified of fire and water and a handful of other everyday occurrences, got us all into the faux candles a while back. I can’t say I blame her as by this point in my life I have caused my fair share of small fires due in no small part to negligence and probably alcohol, but I live to tell the tale(s). I’m supposed to be shopping for holiday gifts but all I can seem to concentrate on are a fine pair of tight black leather pants which make my little heart race, imagining all the ways I could style them over the coming winter months. It’s funny the things we crave. To have and have, to acquire, to rule over a world even if it’s just our own tiny personal universe of visions and dreams. How to fill the void of the days we have been given on a planet which is collapsing in upon itself bit by bit. What’s it all for and where are we going with any of it? All to the grave. A death which stalks each and every one of us which we cannot see. In a flash of memory, I remember you and the way you used to describe the world as you saw it, so much optimism, so much arrogant nonsense, but you believed in nothing more than you believed in yourself and I was too blinded by the sensuous tone in your voice to see that you were just taking me along for the ride. There are shadows all around even as we kiss and dance and smile in the glaring light of a day too bright. Wishing it would cloud over and rain hard and heavy to relieve the itch of my anxiety, I get up and turn the blinds closed. The writing comes and goes because I’m not focused on the deeper things, there are feelings and thoughts inside I am unable to access at the moment and I dread the wait for the resistance to fall. I’m still in a mood hovering over the black pants I now seem to have decided I rightly deserve, but you bring me a second cup of coffee and kiss the top of my forehead. All is forgiven because there was no point in being angry to begin with. As you exit through the doorway, my eyes drift up to survey a dusty book lined shelf. Curling my knees to my chest, I watch in silence as the sand in the hourglass falls.

4 Replies to “Tight”

  1. Once again your words penetrate deep inside with startling ease. The way you paint the world, Be it dark or light, both external and internal makes one feel at home… I can smell the freshly brewed coffee, hear the booming of each sand grain inside the sand clock when it hits the ground, feel the yearning for the breathtaking that once was and the weight of treacherous now…

    Liked by 1 person

      1. The power of words never ceases to amaze. Thank you for sharing this power. It adds a heart beat or a few dozen more per minute to otherwise fairly dreadful march to oblivion. And coffee! 😉

        Liked by 1 person

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