A History in Reverse.

"What are we, and what are we doing? Do you even know?"

He knew nothing, except that he wanted her. 

-

I am pining for you, while we sit here holding hands and heads and tongues. 

But she isn't yours. 

"I know." 

You can't have her. 

"Mmhmm." 

She's most probably going to want to never see you again. 

"Yeah, it seems like that."

Why are you such a fool?

"I think I enjoy the thrill."

Fair enough. Enjoy it while it lasts.

-

"No, no no no no. Why are you here?"

"I've come to take you home. Why else?"

"Fuck. This won't end well."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing, nothing. Have you come to take me home?"
Yes. I think.
"Yeah. Are you okay?"
"Oh, yeah. yeah, I'm fine. It's just... God, I hate him. He knew this would happen."
"You're not telling me something."
"No, no. it's okay. Hey, which way is home?"
He's obviously had too much to drink. This is going to be a struggle.
"Hold up a second. You can't even walk straight."
"God, he's such an asshole. He knew this would happen."
"There's something you're not telling me."
"I told him not to push me to it, but he never listens..."
He trips, and stumbles. His jeans rip from the knee. He's bleeding. He's too heavy for me to carry.
"Easy there. Are you okay? Shit, you're hurt."
"hahaha, I'm okay. I'm fine. Am I bleeding? I can't even feel it."
"Okay. Let's try this again, but this time, a little slower. There's no rush."
"You're always so nice, man. Why are you always so nice?"
"Umm. I don't know how to answer that..."
"You always take care of us. You don't have to."
This is not going to end well. I'm trying to stop myself, but I can't.
"You're a great guy."

-

Almost home, she stops in the middle of the road, turns to him, and looks at his shoes. I feel sick, she says. He tells her it's okay. It'll pass. It's just the drink. She'll feel better once she's rested. She shakes her head. I need to do something about this now. I'm always in control. When I'm not in control, I take control. Silently she adds: That isn't always a good thing. 

"You're in enough control. Come on, we're almost home."

Yeah. I'm in control. She grabs him by his coat lapels, and pulls herself up to him. On tiptoes, she puts her lips to his. She can feel him trying to breathe. Is he trying to calm himself? What have I done? Why? But she stops thinking, and keeps pressing. His arms wrap around her lower back, he pulls her closer, but he's still trying to breathe. She pulls away, holding still onto his coat. She looks him in the eye.

"When everyone turns, when everything is gone... The only thing we have left..." 

She waits. She thinks it through. She looks him in the eye. A tear runs down her cheek. Green eyes shimmer in the lamplit twilight. She pulls him closer, and whispers in his ear.

"Is each other."

He puts his lips to hers.

-

"Things are simple."

"Things were simple."

"They are as simple as you want them to be."

"If they're that simple, you're choosing to be blind."

They lay on the grass, side by side, counting stars in opposite directions. They played with each other's hair, traced each other's pulses, and tangled with each other's veins.

"We are vessels of transformation. History will forever bear the scars we leave."

"History is constantly shedding skin. We remain for a while, and then we are lost to casual musings and happenstance. We're all products of happenstance as is. We are in a constant state of flux, but we're spokes in a wheel, spinning around, going nowhere."

"Would you not even try going against its currents?"

"I never learnt how to swim."

"It doesn't matter. We are intertwined. The waters shall not separate us."

-

Years passed, and they crossed paths entirely, as it were, by happenstance. Introduced by a friend of a friend, she smiled into his eyes. "Yes, we've met before.", she said to their bemused acquaintance, and  waited for him to respond.

"This is a pleasant surprise."

"I would've thought you'd consider it fate."

"I thought we were passed that."
"So did I. Care for a swim?"

-

Slip

I know I'm clumsy
and careless with my words
but
watching you
break them
is a much more
acute
kind of pain.

You said something stupid 
About love and loneliness 
But it doesn't matter anymore. 
Happy Birthday. 
May you never have reason 
to ever cry again.

The Right Kind of Words

Someday, when sunrise dares to compare itself to you,
You in all your morning radiance,
You, searing white light in all your awe,
I will toil endlessly
To find just the right kind of words
To tell you, if I get the chance,
Just how much I lost
When I thought I could lose you
And live to tell the tale.

Every time I think of you,
I die a thousand deaths,
My own hands leading me to hell,
Notes scribbled on my palms,
"you reap what you sow".

This harvest has been the death of me,
And I keep on dying still,
But with every ebb of life,
I will still struggle against hope,
To find you just the right kind of words.

Perhaps then,
I'll die one last time,
and never again.

Celebration

"Haha, sorry. I can be really anti-social when I want to."

"And when do you want to?"

"I'm not quite sure."

"How about we figure out when and why - not socially, of course - whenever you have the time?"

"That sounds like something I could do. You pick a time, and I'll pick a spot on the beach."

"I hope we won't be drawing lines in the sand."

-

No, we won't; just lines under questions long overdue for answers.

Chains

I bear true and an existing witness

to this barrel of monkeys.

A self proclaimed immoral success,

perfected by each whereof

individually deadly and equally so

and spread about the surrendered troops,

for even thousands of miles will not

tear apart their communication, or the lack thereof.

Vultures, liars, thieves, each proclaim their innocence

In no suggestion or rhyme, your weapon is contained in

the wrecking of the keeping the desired effect.

The breaking of the spirit thwarts the whole being.

Your weapon is guilt, your weapon is guilt, your weapon is guilt.

-