The Art of Driving Your EX... Crazy 😮❗ - una publicación de blog por Paulxx001

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23/3/2021 10:15 am

Leído por Última Vez:
3/4/2021 8:40 am

The Art of Driving Your EX... Crazy 😮❗

I'm in a contemplative mood, slouched in my darkened living room, wondering — trapped with my obsessive clocks as they all tap *variant beats. I can feel myself drifting towards a desert, filled with parched and faded memories: Where is that oasis? Where is that vivid recollection, the one I can taste and touch, as if I'm there? I found one of those... the other day, in of ALL places — an old and weathered cardboard box.

My mother had proudly kept the inventory of everything I'd ever produced in school and shoved it in a box. I opened that crinkled corrugated cube for the first time the other night and stumbled upon a story I'd written in grade 11. Holding that yellowed parchment — penned in legible handwriting that was supposedly mine — brought me back to the VERY moment I was asked to stand up in class and read it.

That English course bored me. I'd been wallowing through it, dosing off during the lecture, when Mrs. Robinson (no relation to the real one) called my name, asked me to stand and commanded me to read my assignment; 300 words on — 'Emotions.' I presumed she wanted to embarrass me, thinking I hadn't completed it.

I hemmed and hawed, not because I hadn't done it, but because I wasn't sure if it was 'cool' or appropriate to share with my classmates. I protested she requested, I objected, she insisted — she won. I cleared my throat and began to read.

***********
I had a dream about you last night. I was walking through the door when I saw you standing next to him. He was taller than me; his hands clutched your waist tighter than I would have. Was he already afraid to lose you?

I didn't think you'd notice me — I was draped beneath black shadows. You stared back and smiled, the way you do when you're about to prove something.

I knew, as your fingers gently ruffled through his hair, it was a performance. When your lips parted, at first, I thought it was to say a word; stupid me. It was to meet his hungry mouth.

You never kiss with your eyes wide open. You made sure I fell into them as they slowly closed while he pressed himself against you.

I could smell your scent from where I stood. I would have asked him how you tasted; I'd forgotten. I shouldn't have walked into that place. I watched as you wiped your glistening lips with the tip of a finger; a silver thread from his tongue had lingered.

Was there a word you were hiding, one you wanted to share, a secret we could hold? Then why were you glaring? Should I call you later? Was that a sign? I should never have stayed in that space.

Your friends told me that you'd be there. I took a chance and hoped I wouldn't find you; then I prayed I would. Why didn't they save us from ourselves? My stomach was a twisted knot; you were deep inside my head.

I had a dream about you last night. It felt so real. My sheets still smell of you, barely now. Damn, I hate you, but I fucking miss you more than ever.

***********
I looked up at the class and shyly sat down.

I had written that story for a girl I was dating or should say — had dated. Diane was sitting up front, near the windows, by then, covering her mouth with her hands in shock. All her friends turned and looked at me. The whole class knew. High school drama; whatcha gonna do, huh?

Mrs. Robinson NEVER asked me to read ANY of my assignments out loud again.

That memory still resonates. I imagine all of us have nicks and scrapes from a bruised heart. I looked at my yellowed paper, folded it, then placed it in the box and pushed that box back under my bed. Why would I continue to relive my cryptic past? I'm devoted to managing my tangled present.

And here I am now... slouched in my darkened living room, wondering — if it's possible to synchronize my untamed clocks, so they ALL 'TICK-tok' at the same fucking time.
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*Variant: Although the clocks were all ticking in an asynchronous manner, each one had a different tone and sound; hence — 'variant'.
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