He told me to get dressed; “We are shopping for the festival.”
He did not ask me to….he told me to…
It seemed- then– that I liked being told to do; was –then– more favorable than being asked to.
It was 1981.
At any rate,
We drove in his old hateful stool green Opel.
He did not utter a single word during the whole trip.
Just a chauffeur- that was what he elected to be.
I wanted a father or a lover, and if that was too complicated, then a big brother, I wished for… [It seems] too much.
We came back –returned-, after being stuck in traffic for hours.
Do you know what ‘past-time’ I had then?
Watching festive people.
We, his holiness and I, then arrived…home. Returned to the house called home.
I bathed, reclined, and tried to sleep.
That really felt fatherly and more like home than home.
I saw Breeze in my dream, for a change; he spoke.
Unusual of him to do so, talk, but he did; as a matter of fact, very [very] much extra-ordinarily, especially to me.
“I had a dream last night, a dream where big guns were pulled out; not pistons, not artillery, not war-planes, but feelings.
I stood by what I believed in.
I believed I deserved affection.
I felt I deserved to receive what I had always delivered.
But as usual, nothing was delivered.
The chocolate is melt; the heat of patience overwhelmed the freeze of beauty.
I melted, and found the nearest aluminum drain, and made life into its elements. I was left with the only thing that I was possibly could be left with: Mold.
I took few, actually less than few, decisions in my life; one was and would always be that I was just too weak to face the mundane-ity of truth.
I faced people with what I thought; and when they did not comply, I acted out in the exact same fatherly image, which, I had been complaining of.
I wanted to get rid of my manipulative behavior but I couldn’t, “I manipulated minds”, and made them think, or so I thought. I thought I could make them start to want, to believe, what I believed in, but, nevertheless it was manipulation.
I knew that, in spite of Demoozi’s distance, I could have made him do what he did last night, namely: Stay by my side and read his Gilgamesh thing again.
I knew that however hard he had tried to portray himself, and however distant he placed himself, he would do what I, he, believed would do last night; thinking that my life and my health were at stake. Of course they were not but come on …
It might have been at stake, myself being unaware [or aware] of that, but I intended to place him there. And I did.
Health, reputation, well being, creativity, self appreciation, I could very easily melt them like copper and place them into the glowing spoon holding liquid remorse.
Remorse is such an elastic expression.
He said; “One hour and I’ll call you”,
One would think that “one hour” is ‘short terms’ for the ending of a lifetime but it might be a lifetime for ending.
My ‘romantic self’ likes to extend ends into a saga, can’t help it. It’s me, take it or leave it.
I am proud to say, “NO”, no, let me re-appraise that: I hold astitute and constitution. That is in the delivery and the ‘making’.
You; not letting you, conceive the fact that: Your loss is not my problem, it should and [shall] not hold stop me from moving on.
She, at a ‘then’ point, called: “I thought that was unbelievable.”
Unbelievable! My back hurts.
Primarily, I was not allowed to love.
It was all over. It was aborted, so why call!?
Let me go, to peace, in peace, please.
I am known to be too selfish.
It is just disgusting, because I don’t feel I am, and yet I try to defend it.
All pack their bags and leave, of course, not forgetting the crescent of sour lemon in my saucer.
They excel in doing thus.
Selfish I am, and I am not going to defend that anymore. I am…and will let all else face it; face the real selfishness which they had not yet encountered, watch and see.
My smile is incapacitated, my laugh is amputated, my shoulders are bowed down, by knees are bent.
It is amazing how people can be so harsh using the softest elements in existence; words, gestures and what is called body language.
A tiger can tear you into shreds,
Thunder can burn you into your constituting carbon atoms,
A snake can poison the living charge out of you,
Your loved one can do all that, combined, and even swifter, by a word or a gesture.
You can be pouring your heart out and he [she] looks sideways or checks the time.
You can be calling him[er] with great anticipation and [s]he just doesn’t answer, or worse yet, answers in a formal way to say[s]he’ll call later; may be tonight.
“May be tonight”
Recklessly, swinging, your emotions.
Its not a swing actually, because that needs a minimum amount of concentration; it is more like a blink; blinking away a dust particle bothering your eye, or a mosquito zapping next to your ear. Actions, which do not invoke any higher cortical mental function; thinking; it just uses a simple monosynaptic spinal reflex.
That is if your beloved has a spine.
Yes, only humans, particularly the one we love can turn your entire existence into a monosynaptic reflex.
This is the tragedy of love.
Don’t get me wrong; love is not tragic, we are the ones who encase it with tragedy, when we allow all our layers and our history be linked to a single switch, and hand over the control of that switch to the one we love.
I thought I was beyond the “the ‘may’ be’s” and “the ‘could’ be’s”, but obviously not.
Could it have been that I became tired of being in charge, and became in search of someone to give charge to?
Could it be that I got too accustomed to being boring and bored?
Could it be that I discovered that my plans and lifestyle were too repetitive and too uncreative that I sought someone else’s idea of existence to jump-start me?
Could my search for rejuvenation had repetitively put be a-back?
Could it have been that my search for the characters, which I thought I lack, had overshadowed what I had?
The result of which, as I did not expect, but unfortunately kept being proven true: “I did not acquire any thing I was not supposed to have, and lost what I had… in the process.”
There is no point in getting frustrated because as insistent as I may have tried in repeating the process with the same and with a different someone else, the result was and would always be the same
That is because it’s a fact, and facts ‘do not’ change.
Facts continue to be facts; as in one plus one will always be two, whichever way we try and as often as we repeat the experiment; the result is the same.
A fact is always a fact.”
The cursor kept blinking and the title repetitively said “A new document”.
I felt empty and portraying that emptiness into this new document.
That proved to be next to impossible, like climbing Everest.
Everest was climbed, my document was filled, and then I fell asleep.
Post script: This is the first time I use asterisks, I am moving between times.