Lost in the fray of my own frazzled mind, I bow.
I was not good enough, or I was too good. There was no hope in you for me even as you hoped for all you never had. You walked and I watched, you ran and I agreed. You forgot and I let you remember.
I scared you, or so you said. I was a force, or so you suggested. There you were, set free upon the altar of great love, blaming the very key that unlocked your chains and left them piled on the floor. You blamed them for your fear, for your consequence, and then you hid behind the creature you feared the most.
Time. We just need time. Time to remember the moments of quivering ecstasy as we laid gasping for air, our sweat mixing into pools upon the ground.
More. We want more. I want more of your body taking mine into agreement. You want more of me owning all that you wish to give. Yet here we are. Me being too good or not good enough, hopeful in this hopelessness, a spectator in a sport that sees you run in some other direction. There is no sense to this senselessness. We will just have to walk our paths alone.
Memories. They curse at me as they bring me to my fullest arousal. I will move on. I always have, but I shall not forget. Memories that both tease me and lift me to the sky will ensure I remember. The pulsing throb in my manhood matching time with the echo in my chest will drive me toward dreams long since left behind. I shall let go as I hold on, my prayer being shouted the same as always as the eruptions remind me of what has been gained, then lost, then gained again.
You will whisper my name again someday. Perhaps such music will be played in your aloneness as your mind and your fingers wander to those hidden places. Maybe the song will be shouted as your hips buck and your flesh shakes. Certainly there will be a moment when your heart beats and your mind hears my name. You will then reach for me, find nothing but the space you asked to be created, and wish I was there to remind you of the kingdom we could have created.
I wrote this a lifetime ago.
Yet it could have been written at any time. Fuck those who take their concept of time so literal as to make it part of my existence. To hell with those who seek to make me old, or young, or tired, or plagued by their insanity. They cannot hear their roar for the sounds of the chattering in their heads, and they cannot see their promise as the fog of fear gathers before their eyes. Who am I to tell them any different? Who I am to stifle my own howl because they cannot stand the sound of their own warrior voice?
Talk all you’d like. Walk all you can stand. You will still be a puppy unable to see the moonlight. You are blinded by your mother’s tit, eyes closed as you take the nipple, being fed all that you can stand of all that she can offer.
Yet I will still love you as I have a lifetime ago. I feel no bitterness toward either of our limitations. I have forgiven you much in the way I have forgiven myself.
Time will always try to get the better of me. I may die never again hearing your voice, but I will have heard it once. Your music may be silent in my ears, but I have known its rhythm. Perhaps even the moments of great losses I have found great wins, even if in my final moments I exist in an empty space with only the memories to hold my hand.
Holy Fuck!