Scribbles
Whatever helps you sleep at night.
That thought keeps running in my head during the day, but when night comes, I can’t seem to please it. I’ve never been able to find comfort at the bottom of the bottle, or by waking up in the presence of a half-naked girl. The thought just doesn’t sit with me. It sickens me. I rather spend my countless nights across the lawn, learning the history behind the constellations, than playing the same role of pretending I am amused by mini skirts in high heels.
We all need a punching bag every now and then. In a bad day, and in a good day, we need someone who can take whatever we throw at them, knowing that we will do the same thing for them. She was my punching bag and she took it like a champ, but when it was my turn to hold on, I just couldn’t. She held on and I decided to let go. I couldn’t understand why because I’ve always been the perfect punching bag. Oh, the secrets we keep, and the pain we hide. There is nothing more deceiving than a perfect smile. The heart tells you about the ones you’d loved, the scars remind you of the path you have chosen, and the smile closes the secrets we hold.
The days grow grayer as March becomes rainier.
Have you ever asked yourself how many lives have you influenced? How many people will look up to you when they are depressed or they have lost their will to go on? I want to believe I have done a bigger positive change than negative one. It took my a while to learn that, by giving myself to people, they answered me back with their love. To them, I am more than a friend, and to me, they are the happiness I need. I am everyone’s lover during the day, but at night, nobody seems to remember me. My cellphone blows with text messages when the sun is up. 7 different conversations on a quiet day. 10 on a regular one. 20 is when I know I have to stop. When the stars come out to play, everyone remembers they have a life to go back to — a life that doesn’t include me anymore. They ask for relief, and in return, I demand pleasure. The role fits me and I play it perfectly, but the eyes never lie. No person was made to keep the histories hidden, we need to scream them out.
But, depression doesn’t suit me. It doesn’t go with my eye color.
Across me, a man in man expensive suit, and a ridiculous tie, eats ramen behind the shade of a rainy day. A sad day, some might say. He is making loud noises that my earphones cannot mask, and I lose my appetite. As he swallows, he continues to spill all the soup into the table. Life can be a bit nasty sometimes. Am I jealous of his success? No, I do not envy him at all. He has worked his ass off so he can have the privilege to eat as disgustingly as he wants. Am I repulsed by his manners? Not as much as I should be. There is nothing more sad than the realization that I don’t see it as bad behavior anymore but as the classic New York City environment.
No, I am ashamed to know that he will go back into the concrete jungle, and I will continue to sip from my empty cup and continue to wait for the right words, the right girl, and the right moment. Do we truly make our own luck? I don’t think so. But then again, I don’t believe in almost anything. I don’t believe in karma, I don’t believe in energy, and I don’t believe technology is the right answer. However, I am convinced that true love and love at first sight do exist, and I have seen mine through Nostrand’s window once again. Long brown hair, taiwanese eyes, and that cocky grin that drives me crazy. Just like the first day at University, when she stole my attention and my cutest smile.
I keep my thoughts for myself, and she keeps her love for someone else.
Originally published at https://sexsongsandgasoline.blogspot.com on March 2, 2018.
