I Got Lost
March 8, 2011 § Leave a comment
Looking up from below him, legs wobbly, counting bruises, counting ways to say a thing, counting down to our next fight, I look him in the eye and my face gets glassy. I get lost just then, a feeling like driving in a neighborhood I lived in three years ago but have forgotten every side street.
Look over there. That used to be a law office. Look here, deep in the cornea of a lover and you see that there are hundreds of men in each of them. Our day may have started with little kisses along the jawline, and may end with my incessant snoring, but all of this stuff in between is a blur of moments that will nag at me in time. “Don’t I remember this from somewhere?”
I get so lost in those thoughts that it’s like I stepped away from the sex, selfish, having gotten what I wanted and then got up to leave so I could watch the sports game on the television. I don’t even notice that he’s noticed. I don’t notice a damn thing until he asks if I’m alright and my cheeks get red. I feel his dick get soft inside me, and I feel bad as fuck about the whole damn thing.
We fight a little, but I’m still stuck in the thinking, so I don’t have much to offer to it. He tells me the conversation is going nowhere, so I put my pants back on and I leave, figuring if the conversation can’t go anywhere, someone should damn well be able to.
The coffee I pour into the cup I hold in the kitchen I stand in will be forgotten. Even if I read this every day for the rest of my life, I won’t taste the fucking almost turned milk mixed with bitter chicory in the exact way again. But there’s a sound from the bedroom, and soon he’ll come out and head for the bathroom, and then we’ll either turn the day around or he’ll turn around and go home. I won’t remember the way the trees are lined up behind the roof of the house across the street and I won’t remember the way the freckles line up on his shoulders.
There’s no ending to what I’m saying, either. This doesn’t stop. And yes, I remember this from somewhere.