black history month

so, I’ve come to the conclusion that being alone isn’t the best thing i can do with my life. I’ve enjoyed many moments of inevitable loneliness, but that was all an illusion.

i know I’ve created my own safe haven, my own top of mount desolation and there I’ve sat there, at my own will and played god: watching the tiny, puny humans walking the streets that never sleep, oblivious to the fact that i was watching from above. but here i am. i came down from my tower and i now walk among the ones I’ve despised for so long.

it felt comfortable to be a coward, to hide from my true feelings and circumstances. yet, i couldn’t hide any longer. I’ve had to take a leap back in time, to drink and dance and see the sights from my town, smell scents and colors, while passing my eyes through dark bars, looking for a young man looking just like you back in our glory days.

i remember those hot, American nights. bowling alleys, midnight tacos over cold, cheap beers. so now i sit here, remembering, watching the light’s reflection on the window of this small, smoky coffee shop. i light up a cigarette and take a long sip from my mug, drinking it’s bittersweet, black content. i feel the hot contentment settle down in the pit of my stomach, leaving a fire trail down my throat…

it burns, yet it’s so good, the sensation tingles all the way down my spine. it reminds me of the trail of moist kisses you used to lay on my skin, my bare shoulders on a cold night, in your bed underneath the window. it was chilly, i remember: the hairs on the back of your neck were up and you licked your lips, while looking at me with that giant hunger in your eyes – dilated pupils, smooth and black, exciting the senses of my heart.

i remember those nights… you used to trap me on the mattress, using the length of your legs, holding gently my face between your palms. that palms that were a fountain of wonder, of amazement. you used to prop yourself up in one elbow, and turn on the radio next to your pillow: smooth tunes would play and lull us to sleep… you used to tell soft tales, and put my hand on top of your heart so i could feel the sooting vibrations. you would shush me gently, sweetly, telling me to let the wine do it’s effect, telling me to let dreams come to my eyes.

but i would not let them come! i would fight nature but, since it was stronger than me, it would too soon come back to reclaim my body and soul. it was so powerfull, and yet so silent. i could not fight it… time would go and your breathing would become rhythmic. and nature, well, it would always be waiting in the shadow, invincible and incredible, closing my eyes with it’s force and putting me to sleep.

but my trip down memory lane doesn’t last long. i come out of my daydreaming at the sound of the bored waitress’ voice:

“ma’am, would you like some more coffee?” – she says, rolling her eyes with impatience. i tell her yes and i get a refill. i guess I’ll just sit here, drinking more and more coffee or maybe, later, I’ll get up and go people-watching down the street, among the drunks that the neighbors wish that weren’t there. I’ll join them in their drunk confusion, in their clear melancholy, in their dark places inside their eyes…

because tonight, i don’t wanna go home. I’ve been home for so long that the place no longer feels like home – it feels like a giant, silent hole, only house of the disregarded.

and i, i feel old and a little tired, but my mind is running young and fast and i need to walk the city to find you once again.


now, your turn!

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