The Death of Love

…paused dreams
broken…
Never thought.
Never even imagined that I could.

…3 months of hypothesis followed
by an endless stream of dreams…

Rio de Janeiro
Los Angeles
Tucson, Arizona
Jacksonville, FL.

…and all points in between…
…the glory and the rapture of the departure song…

I spent my sentence in that prison of angular, jugular, sawback stone. The blue- green river of life, cold, cloudy, sliding down my back and cascading into terminal dreams. Mountain highs and alcoholic, acoustic, and caustic lows.

Days… filled with quasi-temporal extrapolation and devastation. Walking the streets, cyclistical meandermeat spinning wheels and churning gears into fears along  the highways, running in the woods, along the trails. The dark clouds of snowstorm sensational grandeur after the dust bowl devil’s kitchen table demarcation grilled cheese fingerwhitches and clandestine folsomdiner expose…

The ethereal part of my life coming to an end- the start of something new, the start of something stagnant, and the fight to avoid therefore begun.

Saw you standing there.

Black hair, straight and short, doe eyes like Gillian Gilbert, black leather jacket of marked obscurity, your pale Nordic skin. Could have been anyone, could have been anywhere.

You were everywhere. You were everyone- all things to me and nothing at all.

I could live without you. Just like I could live without water, food, my arms, legs, body, no sensations, no consumption- nothing at all.

Never lied to you. Never told you the truth.
The past is gone and the future doesn’t matter.
Tonight we are alive and everything that is nothing hangs in the balance.

I never told you I loved you… Couldn’t do that- ‘love’ is a lie, is a crutch and I don’t have a broken heart. I didn’t have a sappy start.

I can live happy alone.

Done it before. I’ll do it again. I’ve done it for a long time. I don’t need to be with someone else to validate my person.

So why do I hurt so much today?

Cycling past C-, knowing that you sit, in your class, just a few hours ride away, five hours west, not south, an easy turn to take. Sitting here, on the highway of life, eating donkeykong doughnuts and popculture effervescence like some bloodhound junkyard rat dog in the blazing sun of the spring afternoon. On this altruistic jaunt to nowhere nonchalance from nothing in between.

Never told you I loved you, before.

That was my fault. Those were your tears. And with your tears came out all my childhood fears. In the street, I lay bare and finally finding in my fears the far greater meaning of that word, that thought of what life would be like without you.

I never told you I loved you…

…until I left.

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