Friday, August 22, 2008

You, appearing.

On a roof top patio in Montreal recently I sat and watched as the only modern crush I’ve ever had systematically dismantled me. I rarely truly fall, tempted certainly, but never reduced to this. So as words failed me she leapt upon the ever increasing power differential and exploited my vulnerability. Her nostrils flared at the smell of blood as it came pouring out of me; through my hemorrhaging eyes that couldn’t meet hers for the shame, my silence pouring giant red waves into her ears as she listened to her barbs separate flesh from bone. She struck, and she struck harder. I always preferred blunt instruments, I see she did too. Carefully and recklessly bludgeoned the fuck out of my heart that I was foolish enough to expose.

I remember thinking how did she gain this leverage? And why is it that I’m less concerned with my absence of power as a political tool and just totally engrossed in every word that crossed her teeth. I would never treat her this way. Miscalculation burns. The only solace left to take on that cold and empty roof was knowing that because of her tremendous anger towards me, that at least at one point, she must have cared about me too.

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