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When Loneliness is Your Lover

When Loneliness is your lover, your bed is inconsolably vast and your heart is a dynamo of potential love. When Loneliness is your lover, your mind is an unfolding frontier of dreams and regrets. She is a leaching mistress who takes, takes, takes, and only gives soul-shattering vacancy in return. When Loneliness is your lover, echo is your shared language. She speaks in jarring frankness, hissing about your unworthiness and glaring inadequacies. When Loneliness is your lover, she scoffs at your sadness and mocks your insatiable longing. Yet like a clichéd victim, suffering from Stockholm syndrome, I can’t seem to let her go. I crave her attention. I’m dependent upon her abuses and deprecating scorn. Curiously, Loneliness has leapt from the depths of my most paralyzing fears to the nosebleed seats of my most addling addictions. When she refrains from crippling me with her boiling sardonic remarks, I grow quite fond of her. Infatuated, in fact. When other women show signs of interest, I retreat to the comfort of my longtime lover, Loneliness. Even when I trip over myself with affection for such enticing beauties, the perennially ephemeral lust is eclipsed by this wretched solipsistic affair.

I resisted her initially, but she wore me down slowly with incorruptible relentlessness. I loathed Loneliness; I resented her presence with all the might that I could muster. But somewhere along the way she seduced me. The freedom, lack of accountability, and lack of responsibility in our relationship led me to a blind acceptance of her terms. The sharpness with which she penetrated my being rendered me powerless against the enduring dull aching that would soon ensue. At first I felt captive to her absolute singular imprisonment, though eventually I came to appreciate my four walls like only an imaginative prisoner can. Loneliness supported my artistic endeavors, forever encouraging me to drip twenty-thousand words beneath a sea of blank pages like droplets of blood that zigzag down my uninhabited chest. More than just instigate, she inspires. Loneliness has been my muse of all things depraved and sacred in this world of ours. Perhaps this is why I can’t seem to release her from my clutches. What kind of artist could cast away their muse?

When Loneliness is your lover, every night is a sentence, and no matter how strong your argument for appeal she denies your pleas for company.  But then again, it is I who flocks to the flagrant lack of tenderness from my mistress, Loneliness. Thus, despite my desire for more fulfilling female intimacy, I have completely surrendered to desolate isolation with my lover Loneliness. She’s temperamental and she’s harsh, but she’s all mine. Even in her sometimes suffocating grasp I remain all mine, too.

Yet somehow, the more that I belong to myself, the more that I want to belong to somebody else. But Loneliness is a jealous lover, and when she senses me start to slip away she woos me with her smoke-and-mirror promises of independence and casual encounters. Foolish me falls for her well-rehearsed pitch every time, like a man who forgets his umbrella during a thunderstorm and passes an entrepreneurial street vendor. For when Loneliness is your lover, there are always gray clouds overhead. Though, when Loneliness is your lover, the gray begins to resemble gravestones, which symbolize a portal to an unknown, as yet uncharted, territory.

 

Filed under loneliness love art prose creativity

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I don’t want to forget, so I’m writing it down

Photographs

With the opaque clarity of hindsight

Shining like a blinding spotlight

On everything I never did right,

Forcing my head into frenzied flight

 

I dissect the broken pieces,

Analyze them with hopes of discerning

Calls for changes I never heeded.

How naive were we to make promises

That we knew were impossible to keep?

 

The truth is that all good things must end;

Time unfolds according to no one’s plans. 

Our duel solipsism envisioned two people in our world,

But it turned out to be a complicated web waiting to unfold.

 

On a lonesome winter evening

Lost in youthful dreaming

I stare at an old, dusty photograph

That embodies love’s inscribed epitaph:

 

The grey surrounding our feet

Matched the shade of my sleeves,

The tranquil blue in your eyes

Reflected unadulterated skies –

My arm carefully placed around your waist;

The shimmering smile that colored your face.

She resembled you in the wedding gown, glowing,

As pure white shielded your shoulders, flowing,

Beneath the revered Irish saints –

Miracles and prophecies depicted in vivid stains.

 

Days and moments that we clasped so dear,

Embedded in memories; mirages in mirrors.

Filed under poem poetry creativity original love reflection

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Some Crashes Are Lucky

        Bryan presses his right foot to the brake pedal at the sight of red lights abruptly illuminating in front of us. Matt peers over his left shoulder and says, “Oh no, we’re about to get hit.” Several seconds later, a silver Acura MDX jolts us from behind. The force of the collision, combined with a panicked reaction, causes us to drift from the left lane into the middle. Suddenly, a Toyota Corolla slams into the side of us. I hear the deep thud of smashing steel and plastic, and feel as though someone has shoved me at the hip. Bryan screams with shock and fear, “what do I do!?”

        “Pull over to the side of the highway”, says Matt in a collected voice.

        Once we’ve stopped moving, the four of us look around to make sure that everyone is all right.

        “I can’t believe that just happened”, I manage to mutter through quaking lips. Matt, Bryan, and I get out of the car, as does the driver of the MDX—a middle-aged Asian man traveling solo. “Are you guys okay?”

        “Yes, we’re fine. Are you?”

        “Yeah. What happened?”

        Matt responds, “The guy in front of just slammed on his brakes out of nowhere.”

        We survey our back bumper. Save for a few scratches there’s not much damage. We peek at his front bumper; it doesn’t even look like anything has happened. Next we cautiously walk around our car to assess the passenger side. We all grimace. It’s a disturbing image. Deep white scratches span both doors. The plastic covering on the bottom of the car is dangling. The rearview mirror is almost entirely removed.

        As cars proceed by, fellow motorists gawk at us as we hear the rubber of their tires cracking the plastic that has exploded from our Honda and is strewn across the other two lanes.

        On the shoulder of the expressway stands the woman who was driving the Toyota. She is visibly shaken, but seemingly unharmed. The side of her car is not quite as mangled as ours, but the damage is considerable.

        As I stand observing this situation, my first reaction is anger, which is followed by disbelief. After a couple of minutes comes a wave of gratitude. I think that the anger is a result of the destruction of our promising afternoon together. Disbelief stems from the myriad scenarios running through my mind, all alternate realities, and all of which involve our day taking a much different course. Suddenly, I feel moisture gathering in my eyes and I’m not exactly sure why. We are all physically safe. The car will be repaired. Sure, we’ll need to reassess our plans for the day, but that happens often. So why am I this upset? Perhaps it is not tears of sadness, but of joy and relief. Had we been hit with greater force, or at a different angle, we may have suffered fatally. But that failed to happen.

       We survived relatively unscathed, except for a little stress and mild trauma. It was just a simple reminder from the universe about the fragility of life. We are told the cliché sayings regarding the brevity of our lives, but it is poignant experiences such as this that give genuine meaning to the act of telling those dear to you that you love them.

       I don’t believe in calling it good or bad—to me it is plainly luck. Some will say that we have suffered from the bad kind, though I see it from a different perspective. If it had been a Mack truck instead of a Toyota that collided with us we might not be here to laugh about this accident.

      I’m just grateful that I have another day with those whom I love. I don’t want that to end a second sooner than it must.

Filed under car crashes luck love family