It was at 12:30 am when I made the call. I waited and it came, dreamy, thick and warm. Instantly my ear had turned into some high-powered, incredibly receptive antenna. Before I could say anything she said, “Don’t worry…. the door… is open.”
I stumbled in four hours later. Made sure I locked the door behind me.
Made sure I wouldn’t touch her body with the same hands doing the touching outside. They say mine was her warmth….
I slumbered towards it and found my spot. Where it has always been.*
“Where have you been dear?” it came again. “Sleep with anyone lately?” she asked. I had forgotten that I hadn’t seen her in three months, but that’s because our moments always felt like moments outside of time.
“No one special” I answered which was a lie. Not a lie really. The words were true but the emotion a lie.
I wanted to make her jealous. Make her hurt.
Someone needs to come up with the term for it. When the words are true but the emotion behind them a lie.
She was always happy to see me. I think she was the only person who was happy to see me. Not excited, I know loads of those- I walk past a bar and they excitedly ask me to come have a drink.
I can never say no to people. I will never refuse alcohol.
She got a boyfriend now because she knows I will never love her.
He’s abusive. A dick. She tells me this and all I can say is “you guys need to play nice”. Then she goes back to him.
I’m the dick.
*I know what I mean, but I'm sure it wont make sense reading, but I've decided not to edit this.
I spend years working in Cape Town and there was this chick who would always let me come over after been kicked out of every joint on Long. I wrote this after on a scrapbook last year, I just found it and decided to share.
Reading it made me feel feel sad, happy and sorry all at the same time. It was a great experience to have that connection, sad that it could not be something more, which leads to being sorry, was I being a dick, selfish pursuing the affair knowing the above.
