The birds were chirping and spring was upon them
But the frost clung to her skin and wouldn’t melt
With an icy finger she caressed his heart
And her pale blue lips dropped a kiss he never felt
Oh, how I love being high. The kind caused by liquor. The ‘drunk on life itself’ kind of high doesn’t come to me all that often.
That warm feeling as the rum settles down into your stomach. You feel the air around your face heating up and a flush rising up to your eyebrows. A beautiful cosy feeling of happiness that hugs you and lulls you into believing that everything is going to be so goooddd and you just need to sit back and relax. More alcohol, please.
Then it begins to work its magic on your organs, one by one. It’ll loosen your tongue right up, fire up the no-nonsense neurons of your brain and rattle your humor cells till they burst out in the silliest ways possible.
It’s like time itself slows down. If a friend keeps blabbing on about work pressures, when you’re sober it may bore the shit out of you. But when the world is a blur and time hangs suspended from the ceiling, you do not even realise how long you’ve been thinking and day dreaming about that guy you think you love but can never really end up with.
You realise you have extraordinary persuasion skills and somehow when you’re that high you manage to convince your friend to go to the beach with you in the middle of the night. You get to act the part of the lone artist who keeps alternating between thoughts like death and suicide and depression, and sudden rapturous glee when you watch the waves form in little ripples scurried along by the breeze to join hands across the shoreline and come crashing onto the beach. The sound makes you think of your own life crashing around yourself and the reasons you started drinking in the first place.
You want this feeling to last forever. You’re floating on your own cloud and don’t want that bubble to burst. You can spend hours lost within a moment, wordlessly admiring the sound of the waves echoes in the numbed recesses of your brain, and the feeling of soft sand melting underneath bare feet as the tide swallows the waves into its darkness. All you want is to treasure these ‘I feel alive’ moments with such precision and detail that it can never be filtered or pixelated to a lesser level of happiness than you presently feel.
She was no stranger to the pangs of love, and her body was attuned to the torments of passion and lust. But this was neither love nor lust. And yet it was a little of both.
It wasn’t love that made butterflies scatter deep inside her stomach, or filled her ears with violins playing hauntingly beautiful music while he kissed her. He wasn’t the warm fuzzy feeling of being wrapped within a blanket when it’s cold outside, only to realise too late that one can’t live inside a blanket forever; just until it’s warm again.
It wasn’t even lust, making her skin long for his touch and his touch arousing that fire within. His touch was gentle and questioning, and her understanding smile sheltered his inexperience and guided him into the depths and folds of her womanhood.
Long after he was gone, she’d lie in her bed thinking of him, inhaling his scent, and trying to relive their moments. She would think of the way he kissed her, how he’d let her sleep with her head on his chest, and how he held her close. She decided that this is how she’d remember him always.
She knew very well that need to feel close to someone, and she knew he needed it too. She was aware that in his heart there was place for only one, and she was not the one for him. She had never known what it was she wanted in life, but she knew this little thing wasn’t going to last. So she would hold on to it for as long as she could.
It wasn’t love, it wasn’t lust. She couldn’t define what it was, but it seemed a little of both. Or a lot like it.
Cause I’m broken…
It’s win or lose I’m open
No more I decide my fate
It runs it’s course; I’ll just wait
I don’t care what’s written among the stars
There’s always the pain that leaves behind scars
I can’t think this phase through I’m frozen
Cause I’m broken…
Have you recently strayed (for no apparent reason) from the way to your man’s heart? Are you looking to cool things down just a little, where some footsie or a little grope under the table says bring it on, but makes you want to run a mile when things start getting a bit too serious? Is this the point where the arms of a relative stranger suddenly seem comforting and inviting, and the temptation to cheat gets overwhelmingly real? Have you expressed all this (most of it) and broken his poor simple heart and now want a grand gesture to make it up to him and ease off some of your guilt? If so, some chicken, a sexy haircut and a good ol’ blowjob will make his day. Soon he’ll get his jealous nose out of your cell phone and personal texts and want to bury it someplace else.
But it won’t ease off your guilt, not really. At first, you might be shocked and outraged at your own thinking. You know this was just the easy way out of a hard (difficult) situation. Then you’ll start questioning whether you are turning into a slut. And after a night of casual tossing and turning you realize you don’t really care. You tell yourself that you deserve to have some fun, a couple of close friends agree and say this is what ‘youth’ calls for, and then you come up with terms like ‘innocent fun’ to explain your loose morals.
Yet you could never possibly begin to explain this type of ‘innocent fun’ to anyone in your social circle. They wouldn’t understand, and you’d never try. Why cheapen yourself in the eyes of others and risk being branded a slut, especially when you haven’t yourself figured out if you are one? It’s an hypocritical society where every girl keeps her inner slut hidden deep inside and then finds it prudent to gossip about girls bold enough to let the world see her for who she is.
Wondering what happens next? Probably you get over this phase of flirting and fooling around and decide to get serious in life. Maybe you’ll find someone who understands and even channels this side of your character, and you find true happiness with this lucky guy. Or perhaps you end up passing through a string of meaningless sex and faceless guys till you realize you are more fucked up than ever. And then you find you don’t give a shit about loose morals and prudent bitches. You say, ‘Fuck it’ and then simply start living your life exactly the way you want to, like there’s nothing left to hide deep within.