I’m falling slipping, dripping, caught in a riptide, a sink hole. A whirlpool; an Ekman Spiral. I level my gaze on a horizon that sways. Your pain. My pain. A silent tug of war.
The hallway outside the apartment smells like onions and garlic. For the moment I feel excitement. Inside, it’s quiet. Only empty bottles and dirty dishes. A note: sorry I missed you. You know how it is. Hope you don’t mind… The acrid smell of a spent cigarette at the bottom of a glass. A small dandelion dangling on the edge of an empty beer bottle. So fragile. Too many wishes that don’t come true. I leave; walk, anywhere.
But today is a new day. A science podcast plays in earphones snuggly placed; something about giving up alcohol for better sleep, less suffering, a habit to kick… For me, the soothing golden liquid helps me with my job–ha, I’m deluding no-one but myself–it requires not only attention but creativity. At the local bookstore I arrange the displays, moving things from here to there…tedious, all-consuming attention.
Then there’s you. I remember when we met, laughing and talking as we drove to meet the first light of day. Only us under the underpass. Tucked in your arms, incandescent waves radiated. And where are you today? Not here. I long for your touch, your breath, your smile. Your picture grips my attention. A breath escapes me. You are my screensaver. You are my life saver, hard and sweet.
“Oh hey,” a colleague says, opening the door.
Here’s to another day on displays.
p.s. Future posts of Whiskey + Moonlight are going to be spread out a bit more. A story is funny that way, constantly changing and growing into what it wants to be. I won’t necessarily post every day, although I might. So stay tuned as the story continues… If you are enjoying the story so far, please leave me a comment and say hello. As always, thanks for stopping by.
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DAY 8: I wake up disoriented. I reach for you but you are not there. Your scent hangs in the air, like a cigarette haze. The soft + hard of you lingers in my bed, a reminder of the good old days. We are twin-stars in orbit around the sun, waiting for catapult or for burn. The moon dips to light the way for others in need of enlightenment or saving. I watch the birds outside the window, the sway of the blossoming branches, the silent rush of falling water, and for the moment, I find myself floating with the heartbeat of the earth and longing for something I cannot name.
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DAY 7: To say it’s all normal, causes the pain to bleed into the edges, creating a watercolor in hues of red. We orbit each other in a drunken cloud, lightening in our touch. And for a while, lunch is sanctuary. “Did you ever think life would be this?”
All I can reply is, “Not in a million lifetimes, yet here we are.”
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