Funny how one gets in touch with self by thinking out loud in a public spaces and fora such as this. I can’t afford a shrink anyway so thank you in advance dear reader for giving me the time of day. In Single And Happy My Ass! (https://vukile.wordpress.com/2012/05/10/single-and-happy-my-ass/) I took on the role of a myth buster. Not entirely certain how much busting took place though.
Personally…
I Still Have Your Photo In My Laptop
The inviting smile
That naughty spark in your eye
The careless pose
I loved you…
I am 34 years old and single. By “single” I mean unattached and in no way referring to marital status. I have little respect for the institution of marriage you see. If marriage is your thing then I’m thrilled for you, each to his own I guess.
Anyway this, for me(my being single), is not exactly a source of joy exceeding. Lonely pangs for companionship, like the proverbial thief in the night, come unannounced catching me off guard threatening to fuck up my delicately balanced world sending it teetering precariously over the black hole of dark and bitter despair and the smoldering ambers of unbridled passion. At such moments a volcanic rage wells in me, threatening to erupt with ferocity second to none. Funniest thing ever if you ask me, I never thought I would see the day when I would gladly and deliberately erect stumbling blocks or create some even to thwart any hope of a new budding liaison.
I’m pissed off as hell that with each potential romantic liaison I instinctively search for lies, inconsistencies and cruel streaks. Me the old-fashioned romantic…
******
…The change was swift and brutal in it’s wake
We stopped talking; unless we
Were butchering each other with words
Words, the new weapon of choice
We became strangers…
******
Our experiences, joys, triumphs, hurts, cruelty, love etcetera are imprinted in the hearts of those we meet, more so on those with whom we share moments of intimacy.
The mathematics of interpersonal relationships is that with each encounter we love more or less, trust more or less, multiply our talents or divide them into unrecognizable bits that are just a shadow of our former selves.
Our lives are altered eternally with each encounter.
Some hearts are left with carefully trodden foot steps, with just a hint of a passerby. Some hearts on the other hand are left with muddy footprints.
There comes a time when after vain attempts at salvaging the doomed and the hopeless one is simply smoked out. After much puffing you are ready to be passed on to the next smoker who may or may not smoke out whatever is left of kindness, trust, generosity, compassion and dare I say love.
Puff and pass.
State Of Emergency Lockdown
After one too many relationship mishaps a lockdown takes place. The gates that lead to one seeking, attracting or receiving love are shut with a loud clanging of chains and locks the likes seen in prison dungeons.
Spot The Liar is the hottest hobby since promiscuity.
One almost looks for potential(read available person)in the hope of spotting aforementioned lies and hints of potential cruelty. One is left giddy with the twisted satisfaction that comes in the event that the expected flaws manifest themselves. I KNEW IT! Prior knowledge and expectation of a let-down cushion the vicious blows of the pain. The pain that sucks the air right out of the lungs. Satisfaction, albeit short lived.
In my experience I find that while I run around at fever pitch making sure the relationship works I am also constantly on the lookout to be let down. Masochist tendencies I know.
********
We stare at each other
You, frozen in digital time
I, quizzing you about the past
You, taunting me with your smile
I, gently caressing the outline of your image, frozen in digital time
You, taunting me with your smile
I still have your photo in my laptop
*************
TO BE CONTINUED….
Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
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