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For him

July 14, 2010

For him, placing the cigarette upon his lips was the split-second moment of composure. The exhalation was, obviously, the release – all the upkeep of exhausted social mores and fucked up shit was puffed into the air; the catharsis. Opened his lips, the smoke flew through the gap between his first two teeth and seeped deep into the air – like a cloud that distances himself from the outer world outside of our bubble. I felt like I was controlling his movements, I was the puppeteer drawing his lips apart and lifting the smoke into the air above. The smoke was the dwindling residual effect of the moments of let-go. He spoke and he let go. He spoke and I listened. I spoke, I saw him think, we reflected and then he spoke – his responses filled me with validation.

Rinse, Wash, Repeat::Lips, Let-Go, Smoke. There was always more to let go of because we were both so loud inside. I was just pissed; I hated everyone because they were damn assholes and I was suicidal. He was suicidal too, in a different way, it was the openness of his heart that was going to kill him – letting too many people into his vulnerabilities, and exposing his soft-spots. Or maybe I was just the jealous asshole who wanted to be like him and emulate his willingness to expose himself personally, intimately and holistically. I was a fucking bullet, whizzing through the air – always untouchable – but also a liar. I was never fearless; I was just lonely and full of desire. He quenched a thirst that was insatiable, even momentarily. Everything was fleeting for me, even more so than for others because my emotions existed as a super bouncy ball: plummeting much lower than expected and never returning to even the base line until picked up and flung so high that the sky, and total Nirvana, is in reach. He was present during it all. I loved him but had never let myself slip up and expose that part of myself – it would kill me, remember?

These were our moments – Jake and I. I wanted to tear myself down, I was angry in every way and also redundant – fuck it all, go away I want to be alone, and I was tired of being angry. I wanted to tear myself down and obliterate every blip of my soul and inanity – like a gunshot to the head except instead of death I would have Ground Zero and a new ground for creating and molding – it was to be golden and great. …

It never came because I never let it; I was stuck in my disease.

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