I thought of the future, and spoke of the past.
~Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Three Stories
My son, forgive me I tried to show my angels But taught my demons
I want to be alone… with someone who wants to be alone.Dimitri Zaik
We rented a motel room in a city far away from our respective lives. The moment we entered, we killed our phones then sequestered them in the old drawer – charging be damned – officially going off grid.
Two chocolates and a courtesy “Hope You Enjoy Your Stay” note sat in the center of the bed. We pushed them onto the floor and stowed away under the cold covers, embracing each other for warmth and, at some primal level, a need to belong.
But when our embrace didn’t scare away the loneliness that festered within us, we resorted to kissing it away.
Our respective decomposing worlds faded into a fog, leaving us alone.
Under satin sheets
Your soft snoring in my ears
Sheltered in your warmth
It’s odd not feeling. It’s like having a tight ball sit above the heart, its form writhing like a baby in the womb. Desperate for air. For life. When that ball unwraps itself, something bursts out and fills me despite my pleas.
It’s them, I realize as they incapacitate me. It’s them. The feelings. They’re back.
They’re like a rapid
Current plummeting the shore
A merciless force
Photo by: Patrick Jennings
Deafening white noise
Away from society,
Wash my thoughts away.
Photo by Ravi Pinisetti