Skip to main content

Dying Star

I held you close and I held you tight. I felt your trembling body rock mine roughly as you wept your beautiful heart out recanting the ills of your past. A failed boyfriend, an attempted rape, the shame you felt. I assured you you were okay, that you werent broken or misaligned, your soul not tarnished or tattered. You were so gorgeous, and you knew it, adding arrogance to your potent charisma. But your unneeded, unfounded, baseless shame caused you to act loudly and judge broadly. You insulated yourself from fear, doubt and loneliness by sheer force of will. My captivating girl.

My grin broadened involuntarily as I beheld the magnificent flower opening and unfolding before me. Your girlish giggling, high-pitched and carefree, drove my heart to soliloquy, echoing my own innocence and naivete. Before seduction, before pickup, before the Ars Amorata. When I simply was and could be, and my fingers gracing those of a amazing girl provided all the profundity I needed to prove that God does exist. You poured your desire for more, your ambivalence towards the future, and your eclectic passions into my chalice of enrapturement. I drank deeply, fitfully, and willingly. Two bodies became one, dancing to the pulsating rhythm of syncopated heartbeats, and although my place will always be to stand guard, Id never felt safer than when your hair filled my nostrils, your head weighing heavily and lovingly on my chest.

Distance destroys, perforating the strongest, sturdiest sails and suffocating all that wishes to blossom and breathe. I watched you disappear, my light fading and leaving me to be smothered by an uncertain fog. Our courtship was a whirlwind, chaotic and incredible in its terror and ferocity. If we meet someday anong the remains, who knows, we could try again. Or we may nod and smile knowingly, thanking each other for the gift of compassion and understanding. The seashells we collected still make random appearances, neglecting to disappear completely. I can still hear the call of the ocean, the rolling of waves, and the beating heart of adventure when I press it to my ear. Now youre a dying star in the distance, guiding me to help me avoid tenuous seas and embrace the brief lulls in the chaotic oceans of life. But your absence caused the other stars hiding in the dark around you to reveal themselves. Theyre beckoning, and what kind of Sailor would I be if I didn't heed their call?

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

My Return To The Field

How often must I remain here? I must have died unexpectedly, and my wandering spirit, aura thick with malevolence and anguish, refuses to acknowledge my own death. Indeed, I have become a ghost, cursed to haunt diners, coffeeshops, bars and beaches, pen brandished and book unsheathed. I've grown so distant from others that Im more statue than Man, yet where this separation once stung painfully, it now soothes reassuringly. Lumped in with a generation of "men" with testosterone levels lower than a woman's would be 30 years ago, and forced to make due with "women" that proudly proclaim themselves sluts and will actually attempt to fistfight men if they are ignored and eschewed, as they should be, my sentiment is clear. I want no part of this generation. It's filthy and degraded.

You could say I'm living a daydream right now, a fantasy granted the breath of life by divine providence. How many shifts at work have I frittered away contemplating the perf…

Shameless IG Plug

https://www.instagram.com/p/BjCacWplX6FygVNS5qOdcWnQRGLOPC3DlvI18o0/

We exist in a world where it seems every skill, talent or gift, no matter how esoteric or seemingly inapplicable, can, through the bittersweet, pyrrhic blessing of social media, be monetized, commodified and capitalized upon. I harbor no unrealistic goals, because realism has become hyperreal. I live a simple life, one that appears to have placed me at odds with the world's status quo. Good, fuck them. Take happiness where you can grasp and steal it, whether it's by drinking overpowering, ironically cheap beer with great friends, screaming obscenities at the top of your lungs for the shock value, or doing feats of strength on public benches. In my case, everything is words and handstands. The rest is irrelevant. Forever flawed. Forever rebellious.

Beacon Of Light In The Darkness

Beacon Of Light In The Darkness




For too long I've harbored the one-sided shadows of former relationships. Torturous, rapid bombardments of perceived slights and ridiculous thought crimes. I've stifled my own opinions on everything from politics to religion, the two classic hot button issues, paragons of ostracization and dogmatic pollution.

The ghosts of the past are insidious and seductive, causing me to view them through rose-colored glasses for a formerly indeterminate amount of time. Yet now, in the absence of that old, familiar love, the grip of nostalgic fantasy has been loosened as my naivete is strangled by harsh reality.

Gasping for breath, it attacks me with a battalion of its best memories, a company of incomparable moments, countless divisions of dreams rendered dead by inaction and hatred. In the end, we all die alone. In those final, fleeting hours, we'll be surrounded by a devoted, compassionate family if were lucky, holding and pumping our aching, callouse…