It occurred in my room back before my soul was tested. In those weeks, I was intrigued by the blonde shocks and lightning flashes of her lust-filled lips breathing, biting, and fucking my face and neck. In a block away from where I lived, I knew she was a trophy and in need to be utilized. That face wasn't being appreciated enough. In a flash, I gave her my number and took her soul from an inadequate mate.
But in the walk to my place, after many weeks (months?) of intense love and passion, it felt like an inevitable funeral that was meant to be a sign of respect for her. I was unable to love, but still did. It was more than lust, and it didn't need to grow beyond that, but it did. In those precious eyes, an innocent affection stared back at me and I couldn't deny the thrill of needing to protect her in a brutal display of truth.
"I can't love. Not right now." It hurt to display those words, but I remembered the tattoo on the back of my right arm, and the imperative need to do what is necessary. She burst into tears, and screamed in my face, as if this didn't hurt me more than her. I think she thought something was wrong with her, which couldn't have been further from the truth. If anything, I would have loved to produce a marriage with her. I didn't think that was possible, after what I lost. But it wasn't time for me to love. I couldn't.
In a burst of instinct and intense emotion, I dropped to a knee and held her hand and implored her to understand that there were things beyond her understanding, and I just couldn't be involved in a romantic relationship in this period of my life. But her insecurities overtook her, I could detect it, and no amount of begging turned what was intended to be a protective break-up into another traumatic episode in my life. Before she left the room, she took a glance back at the love poem taped to my closet door, and angrily tore it before departing into isolation.
On the floor, I tried to decipher what just occurred in the air, this moment in time and space. Since the age of 16, I've tried desperately not to hurt girls and be dear and a knight to a beloved. But it is here, again, another broken girl, bleeding memories and a destroyed dream. It felt necessary to travel into this decision, in her best interest, but yet again - lonely crying girl in the aftermath. In rebirth people transform into something stronger, I just wish there was a way to drain the pain and block it. The destroyed poem on the floor, it occurred to me to just pick it up again, tape it to the wall and line out the Wolfsangel.
This time, at least, it wasn't on a ribcage, across a tattoo dedicated to me. This time at least, I didn't need to stop a suicide. It looks like I'm learning, isolated. A born villain in the end, though. Obviously.
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7 years later, and I'm staring at a music video, preparing myself to meet up with a girl who traveled through half of Oregon to see me. I'm not even turned on. "Just say you remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe." It hurt reminiscing the last drive in Orlando to the airport, holding the hand of the woman intended to be my wife. What was meant to be a death and resurrection show turned out to be a long dragged out death (yet another), but without the resurrection. "Red lips and rosy cheeks," masculine teardrops isolatedly dropping, this time from me, as the blue expansive sky transformed into a infuriated but despondent orange-red incinerating peacefully. "Say you'll see me again."
In the window, I saw my reflection and it looked like a shadow on the other side of a necromantic divination, the soul who refused to die and was forced to see the remaining world transform. In a Portland studio. Like I imagined. "I thought heaven can't help me now." But I put myself together. "Nothing lasts forever."
This girl I am spending tonight with is my lust desire, but I intended on also treating her in an incendiary trend. Ignite a fire within her, to drape her in confidence and inject joy and friendly love into her. It felt fun fucking girls in the past decade, and distracting myself with men and boys, but this was different. It felt intimate, like (ha!) in the beforetime. I wanted her to use me to build her confidence back. I was bewildered how such an incredibly lush and beautiful precious blonde didn't rejoice in her innate sluttiness and sexual tenacity. It was a drag, like a fountain of precious water being stopped by a douchebag or bad situation, I don't know what happened. But as I watched the wilderness and beasts in the video, it occurred to me if the same had happened to me.
It was a pleasant night, and talking with her and traveling downtown and the waterfront inspired me to open a bit, and in her eyes, I could see she liked that. This girl enjoyed tearing me open. Like a predator. In the hotel room, is when I involuntarily turned. It felt vulnerable, unlike other situations in the past few years. This was uncomfortable.
But our bodies spoke, and as we trashed in the bed, the scent in the air took me back to the girl from high school. I was intending to perform a gentle, loving gesture, unlike previous escapades with other people. This time, it was intimate. I looked in her eyes, inhibiting tears internally, and she looked at me warmly and sweetly said,
"you really loved them, didn't you?"
It felt as if for the first time in my life, a person truly believed me, but it wasn't in words, but in my indeliberate body language that spoke on its own.
"Sorry, I was just having some flashbacks...."
"That's okay. Let's make some flashforwards, then."
It was at then that I turned into the other side of relationships, time, and dimensions. Not the previous transforming chapters that I thought were necromantic turning points, but in that sentence, that point in time, that this almost unknown girl said. As I bowed my head to taste her delicious pussy, my heart was content and it was a lively and joyful fun night. The intensity and trauma was off, and like I intended, I was able to make her quiver, ignite, and unleash her sexual confidence. But in pure honesty, in her predatory lustful eyes (the pupils don't lie) I think I was the one being devoured, all in blissful good fun.
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It's my hope she fucked well-mannered handsome guys, perhaps begin a relationship with one, but it finally seemed like I learned to be intimate. In a different time, in a different dimension, we could have been together, but it looks like it was my role within this timeline to ignite and awaken her confidence again. Healing is produced in the most unexpected areas, and I learned that. Debauchery & sexuality are the Devil's realm, and it's fascinating how it proves to be therapeutic.
If heaven isn't going to help me, it won't prevent me from dispatching the call in the shadow of Hawthorne just to let a high school lover know and say "I love you." And it didn't. It won't stop the chants of "HONOR, COURAGE, COMMITMENT" from a bursting guitar screaming in fury. It didn't stop me from taking that girl into my room, and breaking up with her. Drenched in perversion and sin, distractions of lust candy and debauchery, doesn't change the fact that intimacy is found in unlikely circumstances. It doesn't darken and extinguish the light of the inner soul that is known as love. It doesn't matter what they say and it won't deny, and it won't hide - because what this girl said, in that line, is true.
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