Undercurrent

There are smoke stains on the ceiling from the candles and the cigarettes. Twinkle lights and green houseplant vines intermingle, climbing and drifting against the walls as a gentle breeze sighs in through the window. I tell you stories I may or may not have told you already, forgive me, the days are running into and away from each other. I chat with a friend, roam around the house in socks and a tee shirt, grind more coffee, sift through the fridge for the cream. I have it easy, I have it lucky, I have it all very privileged. I want to move forward and never go back. Electrified talking heads on a television screen the size of half a living room wall, a neighbor watches some news broadcast or other all day long. Lines for food, lines for jobs, flat lines, side lines, borderlines, every boundary seems destined now to be crossed. Invaded. Life lines. Intruded upon. Vulnerability is a strange feeling when you are at the same time isolated. Turned inside out for no one, sensitive. Raw. Exposed. I pull a tarot card covered in roses and coins. I believe in letting things burn. I believe in letting things go. Every night this week I have dreamt of a different party I’m not allowed to attend. Or if I do get in, I can’t figure out where I belong. I observe but do not exist. There are white linen table cloths and women with their bare breasts on beautiful display. Elegant couples with the prettiest teeth, kissing underneath a red glowing light. High heels and spilled drinks and arguments, as I wake thirsty, dizzy, in a foggy haze. We go for another walk, you pause patiently as I snap a dozen pictures on my phone. I’m a sucker for the pink flowering trees, something about their fragrant blushing underneath a bright blue sky makes me feel like somewhere deep inside, I am the most myself. The feminine and masculine, the light and the dark, the giver and the receiver, each sensually intertwined. Maybe we will make it through only to wish we could go back. Maybe one day we will touch each other again, yearn for the freedom on the other side of heartache. Remember the taste of the body of this time, the softness and the cruelty of the wild.

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