Coffee & Make Believe

"I desire the things that will destroy me in the end." — Sylvia Plath

Category: The Howlett Series

7:23 pm

I knew I was masochistic,

long before I knew you.

As if I try not to let myself forget it,

I arduously cling to our beautiful past,

our painfully impossible future,

your separated presence.

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Detour

I am a dirt path you didn’t mean to turn onto,
a one-way street too narrow for other vehicles to pass beside.
No way to turn around, you could only keep going.
And while driving through, you were captivated by sceneries you would’ve otherwise missed,
Bold hues and untouched beauty.
Things you’ve never imagined, that you never knew existed.
And you never felt so alive.
Until you hear the busy roads,
the freeway calling you back to the destination you were originally seeking.
You drive on,
Back on schedule,
As if the time spent with me
Was no longer than a detour.
And almost as instantly as you found me,
You leave me.
Just a vision in the rearview mirror,
Until suddenly I am no more than a memory.
And you continue on,
And you get to where you needed to go.

10:39 pm

Everyone around us can see it.
We think we’re slick and sly,
but I think our friends are just
humoring us.
This is a joke.
How could they not see the tension,
the chemistry,
the raw magnetism?
A third party observer once asked
what it was that we were,
seeing, obviously, it wasn’t mere friends.
What are we?
Well?
My guess is we are the punchline
to life’s cruel joke.
We are two beings,
one soul,
no beginning nor end.
We are infinity,
we are destiny,
we are nothing.

12:08 am

Please, I beg you,

just forget me.

For I have not the strength

and will

to do it on my own.

You are my heart.

Rip it from my chest,

take it far away.

The pain is too great,

and I cannot bear the ghost of you

any longer.

Moving On

What else can I do besides go on with my life?

We always knew it was going to end. We knew the expiration date. And for a brief moment, we froze time. We laughed in the face of the future, and tried to enjoy what we had left, at maximum capacity, before it would come hurtling to its inevitable fate.

We knew it wasn’t going to last. So we had to make it count.

And now the end has come, and how does it feel? Well, it feels sort of like limbo. Everything that I imagined it would feel like, it has, and yet it hasn’t. It’s almost bittersweet. We’re not what we used to be anymore. In fact, we are nothing. Time bested us, and the future had the last laugh. But I’ll never forget our last few months, when we were everything. The world, and the stars, and the atoms in between.

Three Words

I couldn’t say it. I tried, but my non-committal habits silenced me, as much as I wanted to shout it into the almost-morning. I kissed him again instead.

“I have to go,” he half-whispered, reluctant to pull away. But he didn’t pause as he started walking towards the gate, knowing that his will to leave was already too weak.

I stood on the deck, watching him disappear. Click. The gate door closed. Footsteps fading. I reprimanded my inability to speak my mind. How often did I want to tell him, and how many chances I had lost. Now he was leaving for his trip, unaware of my plans to leave him in my past. This was my last chance to tell him, one last time.

Climbing down the porch steps, running barefoot in the dirt, I made it to the gate door and whipped it open, ready to run to him, stop him, tell him. But he was already out of sight. The moment had evaporated, and disappointment filled me like lead. I heard his car engine ignite in the distance and, defeated, I closed the gate door and walked back to my house with nothing but a heavy heart and muddy feet.

 

Moments

I’m not ready to go
The night isn’t over
I want to go home
I want you to stay
Please don’t leave
I will never beg
I will barely ask
You have to go
Just another minute
Don’t ask me to say it again
This time I mean it

Drunken Conversations Vol. VI

“Why do you keep letting me do this?”

It took me off guard because he released a little honesty with the question, and I wasn’t ready for honesty. So I answered his question with one of my own.

“Why do you keep doing it?”

Drunken Conversations Vol. V

It’s always in those moments when I lose myself, when I let go of the restraints I keep on my mouth, that I let slip a little too much. Just a few words, but more meaning in them than I meant to reveal. A flicker of vulnerability in the softness of my voice. A little too much honesty.

“I want you to stay.”

I lied there looking up at him, knowing I had said too much, but in that moment, not caring. I knew that he wouldn’t, that he couldn’t. I knew that my words and whatever I felt about us or him, were irrelevant and always will be. I knew that it was never going to be me, and I knew that deeply, that was what I always intended.

But I didn’t know that he was going to respond just as softly, just as vulnerably. I didn’t know that he would sound so much like I had, and I wonder if he was also surprised by his own honesty.

“I know. I don’t want to go.
Believe me, I really want to stay.”

Lost Dreams

 

Seeing you always occurs in the late hours,
when all is still and we should be sleeping,
like the rest of the city.
Is it out of a natural exhaustion of the mind
that makes it so easy for us to lose our inhibitions,
to do what we do?
Never tired, always wired when we’re together,
always ready to take it too far—
to take on the night.
Perhaps that’s why each memory of you is fading,
blurry and coming back like deja vu,
like a dream that we should’ve had while sleeping.
If it’s any consolation, every hour lost with you was utterly, completely worth it,
and I’d rather have these sheer, fleeting memories over all the lost dreams.