Even Us

Personal musings of love, life and self-knowledge

Even Us

We started with simple attraction. My molecules and your molecules, Hell, they just wanted to get it on. Though it seemed as if my entire universe conspired against it from the very start. And yet, I was in lust. In lust with our carnal knowledge of each other’s most depraved kinks. Our grossest parts. The darkest parts of ourselves. You were a cave I found and never wanted to leave. A darkness so familiar. But maybe it was just the bourbon and blackout curtains.

Who could have known?

You could have known. As if you unwittingly knew, yet still unknown to me, my every indulgent interest, my every destructive device. And you catered to them. Sweetly and effortlessly, because my faults and desires were your faults and desires. I never could have known that these shared blemishes, the ones I didn’t know I possessed; the spiritual, intellectual and physical; the things that made me despise you, to think of you only as some f**k in a dark room, a big spoon when I was feeling small… who could have known that these would be the things that would make me think I could in fact love you? You felt like home. Even though “home” was everything I had ran from so many years ago. And yet, we’d lie there exchanging stories, theorizing of secret moon bases, mulling over the metaphysical, the spiritual or even when I had to explain real physics… we’d lie there until the moon fell away to the sun, as I fell away to you. My good sense and judgement with it.

But, it was never about you, me or even us.

It was about the most volatile pieces of ourselves forming an alliance to conspire against you, me or even us.

A demolition of ourselves. Or maybe it was just me. Maybe I allowed myself comfort where there really was none. Allowed myself beauty where it could never be found. Gave myself truth where there was no substance.

But maybe, just maybe in the slightest, most obscure scenario that is these random particles colliding in the molotov cocktail we call love and life, just as our respective atoms did those many months ago, just maybe you gave yourself those things too, with nowhere to put them. All of your spaces so full of doubt and shame that no light could possibly occupy those same spaces that made me think I could in fact love you. No room for comfort, beauty or truth. Only the lost musings of a lonely philosopher. The debilitating heartbreak that is the beautiful drunk. He who was destined to forever be the fabled lost boy. A typecast. Always a martyr of admiration, wanting so desperately to shine, but only for himself and none else. The fleeting glow of a choking ember, a love unrequited between an empathetic and a narcissist. I feel your every pain as if it is mine, because it is mine own. You embody my tears, my fears, all of the insecure and the obscure, so that is why I wound myself to you, unknowingly, to gaze in the face of what should never be, could never be, won’t ever be for you, me or even us.

It was all for lust. Not you, me or even us.