12 November 2012
the girl i loved
you lost her almost exactly one year ago, in early november. autumn was dying fast that year. the trees in our courtyard were dark and bare, with branches like veins reaching up to the skies. it wasn't winter yet, more like a strange dusk between two seasons, a hazy and sleepless state of mind.
you were spending your 4 AM mornings in dirty diners and gas stations, wondering if all the night shift workers were the same with their bloodshot eyes and the constant stench of coffee and cigarettes lingering around them. maybe you were still partially looking for her and your hands were shaking of the cold but the memories of her had become the only thing keeping you awake during this grey dawn.
you kept filling your throat with cheap vodka, submerging in all of your darkest fantasies, smoking golden marlboros until your lungs became numb and your fingers no longer felt the cold. you were driving your car through the city lights, trying to run away from the only thing you really wanted, with hands trembling on the steering wheel, windows covered with frost and dirt. you wished the road could swallow you entirely, like a monster hiding inside your head, a certain darkness only the insane can see.
you want solitude, and yet you crave the company of a lover. you miss the mornings when you woke up to the heat of her freckled skin and you felt so complete; and you will never forget the nights she was sleeping next to you, breathing and alive.
you are lonely, and you miss the warmth only another human body can give. your skin is like glass, sharp and tender, and every single touch painfully fractures the wall you have built around yourself. however, your mind will always hunger for something more, just like your fingers will always long to touch the flesh of the thin asian girl standing next beside you by the traffic light. your imagination, ignited by the images of her; dark silky hair running over your spine, her skin burning yours, her thighs curved around your ribcage.
you make love to her four times in your head, hungry like a wolf, her blood like a crimson sea on the sheets.
"i love you, little bird," you whisper as you grab her hands, covered with bruises and scars. but she doesn't understand the loneliness that comes at night, the cravings of a quiet mind, she never will. and with her last breath echoing on your fingertips, you take her home and write three thousand paragraphs on her skin, six hundred lines in each.