Cigarette smoke and the ashy pang of regret stabbing at the pit of my empty stomach, I crush out my smoke on the dirty pavement and head back into the bar. It’s early but it’s winter so it feels like the night has laid itself down right in the middle of the afternoon. The sky overhead is heavy with thick gray clouds, and the street seems to speak to me about all the paths in life I should have taken but didn’t dare. Hindsight is laughable in so many regards, but the city streets don’t care about that, nor do they hesitate to taunt you with their jagged cobblestone call to mischievous deeds.
He’s ordered us Manhattans and despite the somewhat drab surroundings in the dimly lit place, they do the martini up properly with a deliciously dark sumptuous cherry. As we sip and talk about nothing in particular, my eyes take in the scenery. Graffiti slashed upon the walls all the way up the green tinted stairwell to the bathrooms on the second floor. Dark wooden chairs and scratched out tables, each with a single glowing tea candle at the center. He is kind but offers nothing new to my mind so I half-listen and half-smile and watch the way the beautiful bartender swivels her bare hips as she serves the increasing crowd. There is something about a gorgeous woman with a golden tan in the middle of the coldest month of the year that melts my insides and turns me into a shy kind of liquid lust. I say nothing but reflect my admiration in healthy tips which is probably just as well for everybody.
I do not realize I am fidgeting with the zipper on my tall black boots until he covers my playful fingers with his palm and asks me what I’m thinking about. I hate this question because no matter what I say it feels like a trap. I’m thinking about literally everything. I’m sitting here with him but my mind is off in a thousand directions both existential and pathetic. Why do people always prefer to speak about the news or sports or the weather when I want to pull apart and dissect thoroughly the gruesomely dark thoughts which claimed me in full from 3am until the alarm went off unironically at 4:45? It’s like we trade our potential for expansion in for the cheap glow of neon tricks. More substances, less substance.
I know he wants this to be easy because that’s all he can handle. Or can be bothered to try to handle. I have been raised all my life to not be difficult. The trouble is it never stuck. Complexity is to me an aphrodisiac. I want to feel my brain chew on a thing, tear the meat of it off the bone of it. But all he and everybody else seems to be interested in is the weather or the newest flashy toy somebody bought to hide their soul-sucking dread of growing old without purpose or direction. To let us both off the hook of attempting to bridge a compatibility gap far too wide, I suggest our next stop be at a strip joint a few blocks east toward the river. He smiles and I smile and at least we can agree on distractions if not anything that could possibly matter in the least in the end.
Allison Marie Conway 
“I hate this question because no matter what I say it feels like a trap. I’m thinking about literally everything. I’m sitting here with him but my mind is off in a thousand directions both existential and pathetic. Why do people always prefer to speak about the news or sports or the weather when I want to pull apart and dissect thoroughly the gruesomely dark thoughts which claimed me in full from 3am until the alarm went off unironically at 4:45? It’s like we trade our potential for expansion in for the cheap glow of neon tricks. More substances, less substance.”
“Complexity is to me an aphrodisiac. I want to feel my brain chew on a thing, tear the meat of it off the bone of it. But all he and everybody else seems to be interested in is the weather or the newest flashy toy somebody bought to hide their soul-sucking dread of growing old without purpose or direction.”
I find these passages so beautifully relatable they tug at my soul like rope. Royal flush indeed, gorgeous poet! ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Even your kind comments are poetic and beautiful! ‘To tug at the soul like rope’… oh so gorgeous. Thank you beyond, magical poetess. 🙏🏻♥️🌹🕊
LikeLiked by 1 person
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙏🏻🌹
LikeLiked by 1 person
Always a joy and pleasure to read and share your posts with followers, My Dear! Hope you have a great day!! xoxox 😘💕🎁🌹
LikeLiked by 1 person
‘Complexity is to me an aphrodisiac.’ Interesting.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Is it really though, dark Poet? Are there souls for whom simplicity is a turn on? What a sleigh ride their lives must be…🖤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Laughing. Indeed so.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Haha, a joy to make you laugh. 🌹🕊
LikeLiked by 1 person
Smiles
LikeLiked by 1 person
“I do not realize I am fidgeting with the zipper on my tall black boots until he covers my playful fingers with his palm and asks me what I’m thinking about. I hate this question because no matter what I say it feels like a trap. I’m thinking about literally everything.” Why is this line the story of my life?! I loved this piece immensely, Allison🔥😘🌹
LikeLiked by 1 person
I feel like we must be kindred souls, dear Lisa. I’m so touched you loved this piece so… thank you beyond for taking the time to let the words in. 🙏🏻♥️♥️🌹🕊
LikeLiked by 1 person
I feel like we are as kindred souls too, dear Allison 🦋🌹🌟 Your words always resonate so deeply. 😘
LikeLiked by 1 person
Xo ♥️🕊🕊
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow. I love this vignette. Also, sometimes your writing makes me feel less strange. Somebody else thinks like me.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That warms my whole heart to hear. Thank you so very much. 🙏🏻♥️🕊
LikeLike