This is a short something, a short nothing. I wrote it on a whim, in the
middle of a quiet day.
Too much about you, a deluge, a flood, washing away the pieces of myself I
have slowly built back together. The tilt of your smile, crazy and bright
in the neon darkness. And the small, intimate crook of your finger, blurred
in the smoke and sharpened by the spiking strobe light.
Sometimes it ends there, and I wake, gasping for air in a world crammed
with it. Only the damp tangle of sheets about me, the low shape beside me
still and unaware. Far off rush of traffic streaming into the horizon,
spilling dirt and dust into the sky.
I get up, like I got up the day before, and I pad to the bathroom. And I
do what I did the day before, and all the days before that in a life gone
stale as the smoke in that nightclub. And I'll look in the mirror, and meet
my own eyes, and not understand how they can be the same as they were
yesterday, as they were before it all.
The bruise is gone, mark of your mouth on my shoulder. Sweet, hard pain, a
kiss and a brand. Nothing but skin, yet in these lacklustre days, I think I
feel the shadow of possession bruising me again.
Too often, it does not end there.
Too often, I find the memory clouding my vision, putting ghosts in every
face I pass. In them I see the flash of light as it slid along your jaw,
sweep of eyelashes as they lay smooth on your cheekbone. The careless
dishevelled hair too like yours, hair to be touched and tousled.
Cold recognition jolts through me, opening that small, significant abyss
into my heart. A place you filled, so briefly, reducing my world to the
sweaty, slick feel of flesh on flesh, to meaningless, frantic words that
never rose above a whisper.
It passes, destroyed by the urban crunch, shrill of a known voice, bump of
a stranger's elbow. The real world bursts in, loud and demanding. Demanding
I'll forget, for a little while, but in the sting of my heart, I know you
with each push of my pulse.
Thanks for reading :)