Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Too Good to Be For Me

God never wanted me to have anything this good. If he had found out, he would have taken her away. I felt like I’d done something dishonest to have her. I felt like I was undeserving. She was bright traffic lights reflecting off the pavement on our way home, drunk in the backseat, enjoying the night. Her legs were tied around my head like a blindfold, and I drank in the night. She was a good buzz and a wispy brown mohawk wrapped around her pubic bone, leading down in between her legs. Hot and salty, she tasted like the meaning of it all, and I was her puzzle. I was 1,000 tiny interlocking pieces, all looking the same, but subtly different. I was a casual toy, a frustrating novelty that gradually revealed itself through sustained effort. Miles of complexity to recreate a simple image. I was (and still am) a colossal waste of time, disguised as an intellectual exercise.

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