The outpouring is often indecipherable, even to myself. Words leaps forward and explode from my hands; each connotation cleverly disguised in well placed euphemisms. Truthfully, I find it easier to live through her than myself, and acting out in her fabrication gives me the presence I could not normally achieve in the real.
It could be faux or it could be fur – either way you’re still wearing it.
Life is fleeting. My twenty third draws near. I step timidly into the darkness. My vision blurred, untrusting of my instincts. Boldly, but without fear, I press my fingers into the void. Behind my eyes, the mechanical. I try to differentiate the dream from the day. Morning pallor. I notice the cracks and paint over the impurities. The wind assaults and carries the sun on its torrent. Gray lingers in the cool, casting the evil twin. I ponder this life; the beauty, the mercy. I question existence. I question decay. I wander into hypocricies, and fight myself for the answer. Listless until then, when the burden was inflicted. I know now.
Life is fleeting.
Dear ________,
I’ve been thinking about us lately (us, as in: how it used to be) and it bothers me. I declared myself well and truly over you months and months and months ago. It pains me to have these feelings resurface. Life is too short to spend harbouring feelings for an ex-lover. I wonder: why you? and why now?
I’m not bitter. I never was. I think the situation was far too sad to be classified anything other than a tragedy. I can admit now that I was naive. You called me ‘Beautiful Girl’ and I believed it to mean so much more. Was it stupid of me to interpret loyalty in your kind words? Did I read between the lines when all you meant to convey was flattery?
I could blame it on geography. We were in a hole to begin with: did we ever stand a chance? And if I met you today, in this city, in this new life: would we still be in that hole together?
After the ‘us’ came the clarity. I suppose I owe my thanks to you for this newfound perspective. Love is science. Our actions are that of our bodies. We are nothing more than animals. There is no such thing as commitment or monogomy. We lust so that we can breed. We are attracted to certain men because our genetic makeups tell us to be. We only pair up because it makes living easier.
But – with all this cynicism and perceived wisdom comes the question that throws it all back into chaos – why you? and why now?
The Minx