We’d hangout every Saturday and Sunday evening making love to the steel plates, machines and barbells in the weight room. We’d give it all we got with our energy breaths, backbone and fervor and didn’t let up until hours later when it was autumn, cold, dark and the night fell full of empty heart.
We’d paused and lingered on one another between sets and smile like we owned the sun and I’d look up to your grace like an anchoring giant sitting in the middle of my heart’s desire and listened to your persistent sermons. Off onto the bus heading home crosstown I’d praised existence and its happiness all the sudden and turn my face away from the other passengers whenever I’d feel sullen about us.
I’d watch you watch me and you watched me watch you just like a crowd yet we were always at an extended distance with actions that were never to be spoken out and about. I’d wait around for you and asked if this is what you’d also wanted after I finished my exhaustive workout. You’d invite me into the locker room and performed a routine: mixing supplements, shaking your protein and layering up in clothing to either hide your muscles or create the illusion of bigger ones?
You have a knack for bringing up deep thoughts and heavy conversations when you flowed out of yourself like when you mentioned your father being murdered and how you only have one memory of him. I thought to myself, only you would know how to make the time in between grim and pick it up at a whim with a crafty grin.
But I’d remain silent, analyzing, hands folded, wondering why you’d come out the blue with these aching stories. Were you trying to test my comfort abilities? Or was this an unusual way of letting me know I’d be in the friend zone? If so, answer me please, so I can duly note it.
Remember when you asked me if I’m a patient person.
I do, and I’m sure you had a motive.
There has been countless times where I’ve felt guilty as fuck and couldn’t understand whether I love to fall into his girlfriend’s smile? Or if I craved to crack her lips to make it go away? Or punch myself in the face to assist in the erasing of every single corkscrew of a feeling dismayed? How many times have I felt helpless, backing into a memory triggered and I was where they were, blessed and swayed? My only intention was being within the same exact space he was in so I could inhale the same breath as he while my armor fell to the ground pressed and unafraid.
..Stupid. Oh so stupid!…
Anxiety twisted its daggers and rattled my nerves in the dark pits of my belly over what they do not know.. how I feel. Except I have good reason to believe different say the times where I blurted real statements that were shrouded by the fact that liquor and barhopping was involved in spontaneity appeal.
I’ve created fantasies by the fortune of a big wheel by what I’ve seen with my own eyes (which may be just as deceiving as a parent’s love and affection for an only child) trying my best not to strain the muscle to my sight when I looked over their pictures and how it hit me thunderous quick like a jab snapped from the words of ancient scripture. I see an amazing couple who meshes well like calm water into calmer pitcher. They must have it great like the cheerful sun making love to the sky or how the moon melts it’s glow into the night. But what do I know since I could only view what the grass smells and tastes like from the other side?
I caught myself lost in the moment of what I perceive to be fact by obsessing over the imagined.
They love each other and display it like fashion. I watch and it makes me sick with backbiting spasms like once where I examined everything one evening at their studio apartment celebrating a party completely disarming, until I saw their bed and I envisioned them cuddling and making sweet love charming. I plummeted without words or expressions ill to my stomach. Mostly by the summit of how I actually felt about him. And why do I feel this way about him? It’s strong like the religion of gym.
Sick as I was with an ex lover of mine to get closer to him. Sick because I pretended to be friends with everyone in the circle to be closer to him. Sick to my stomach on how it makes me sick to begin with. I seethe and my heart breaks momentarily wishing I weren’t smart enough to know what feelings meant, just before I come around and snap into my senses again. FUCK THEM!
Side note: I dislike doing continuations to a past entry because it’s hard to be in the same exact moment with the same amount of inspiration as I felt during which and when I first created the post. If part 2 has disappointed you as it has me to a certain degree, the sentence before this one may have had a lot to do with it. Thanks for reading. 🙂
I’m in love with the idea of love.
I’m in love with what I’m unaware of.
I’m in love with the fascination
Of illusion, your flaxen enchanting mystery.
I’m in love with the little history
I’ve come across: You, a gypsy
Moving across countries
Like the commencing of first-graders
Belching out the alphabet line.
I’m in love with taboo of crime.
I’m in love with every finger you point.
In love with every smile of loin you throw.
I’m in love with every invitation,
No matter the trivial circumstance
Of a friend’s circle gone awry.
I’m in love with each hello and every good-bye.
I’m in love with your frivolous romance
Between you and your significant other.
I’m in love with knowing your horoscope sign,
In love that I share the same one and the
Common decree of being a magnificent lover.
I’m in love with the thought and air
Of remaining close, a die-hard undercover.