This bed, I'm normally alone in, but tonight is different. He's normally not here but well I guess when a friend needs a place to sleep I guess it's ok to share.
Now you see Brent is a nice guy. Lately he has been growing on me and beoming a great friend. I'm not sure if I can tell him everything but I know I can tell him a lot. Tick. Tick. Tick. Time goes by, and all I can do is think. Think. But what am I to do? This guy here in my arms, he's been so nice in many ways. Like his smell. It's human, not some synthetic smell. It's nice. Too nice. He's everything perfect. But how long ago has it been since he stopped being the threat and someone I yearn to have? What about his ex? She's my best friend. I shouldn't even be doing this. Listen. That sound is him breathing. So calm, so peaceful. How can it be? He's always so busy and stressed. There's so much to him. I would love to get to know him so much better. It can't be, we can't be. I can't keep holding onto him like this. I have to turn away from him. But he turns over and is now holding me. And it is nice. Too nice. Tick. Tick. Tick. I hate that I can't sleep, but I love that I can stay awake for this. I hate that I'll have to remember this, but I love it for the same reason. He makes noises as he sleeps. And all I can do is ponder if I am in his dreams, or if he even has dreams at all. We could be any two people in the world. Rhett and Scarlet. Brian and Justin. Any two people. But no, it is just us. Me and Brent. Brent and I. The night is lonely and cold, but not tonight. It is everything but loenly and cold. It is poetic. It is wonderful. It is tragic. It is ironic. A true contradiction. So how does my night end? In a consummation, a surrendering to the night. Carried through by the hands of time. Tick. Tick. T-i-c-k. But the only thing I could think of then was that old poetry book I was given as a kid. To that one poem, to which one line defines all I think of myself. One line for all that I am: 'Wild or tame, can you love a monster of a frightful name?' This was written for a short fiction class that I took last year. This has aspects of real events but not everything was actually as written. I did have a sleep over with a friend and there was some attraction to him, however I think it was mostly because of a bad break up that occured in the spring that year. So glad that is all over honestly. But the most important thing was that the emotional actions that happened in this piece of prose poetry didn't happen. Was
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Jack BeaverhausenI am a contradiction! An artist with eclectic taste and blunt honesty! Archives
February 2011
Categories
All
|