…. She stood in a pink shirt that hugged her to her knees and she asked me why I smoke. She rolled around my bed and she played with my matches. She said she couldn’t want anyone who had black lips and a black heart. But she grabbed onto my neck and she pushed her mouth further into mine. We were upside down in a trance at 4.20 in the morning when she told me she loved me. She didn’t even look at me when she said it. We’ve never talked about it since then. But every time she falls into my chest and every time she drags me back to life, I wonder what it is I feel about her. I can tell by the way my body reacts that I need her. From the electrolytes in my hair strands to the ever hungry pit in my stomach. And I can tell by the way she makes my heartbeat stop when she does certain things that I am still just a man. But she leaves for days and I don’t think about her once. She screams about her pain and I cannot feel an ounce of it. She cries her heart out and I just sit still, lost somewhere in my mind. A place where there’s nothing wrong or right. All the walls were painted plain white. We are like the contrasts that inevitably destroy each other. She feels everything at once and I feel nothing at all. I’m not sure which is worse.
On some days though, we find perfect rhythm. On some rare occasions, we get to that elusive point of completion and on such days, the thrill is exhilarating. We spend the days digging into each other and slowly killing each other. But when the night comes and everything else dies, we are left standing underneath the spotlight of life. Just the two of us, naked to the bones and bare to our toes. And she starts to dance to an invisible tune, swaying left then right. She starts to hum in the lights, a sad slow song and my hands move after hers. She strays close to my heart without fear of consequence. She looks straight at me and she sings about how we found heaven in this hopeless place. She steps into me and then I feel the lights on my back. I feel the warmth of her dying soul and I feel the hopes of her relentless heart. And slowly, mine begins to beat. Steady at first then it breaks into a trot before finally running away with her. To the place where we make our own and at the point where time stays irrelevant.
Oh, desperado these things that are pleasing you will hurt you someday
A long time ago, before she told me that she loved me, I told her that I loved her. The memory of that time is like half the dreams you aren’t sure you had at night. The only evidence of it is an uncanny feeling when certain things trigger it. She was probably just eighteen then and I was a little older. Old enough to not know the first thing about love. I remember it was a weird kind of night because I was lost at eight p.m in the city and she was leaving the next day. I remember because I had run away from home and I had come after her. Sometimes I miss that naïve heart. So I was lost, somewhere 25kms away from her and her phone was off. I left my heart in her voicemail. And then she was gone. But I swore I would wait for her. Oh, desperado ain’t it funny how the feeling goes away.
That seems like another life I lived in another time. Just another reminder of how cruel time can be. And how I’m slowly fading away. My original intention was to burn out but intentions are only roads to hell. I feel conflicted about letting her go or dragging her down with me. So I hide behind the illusion of choice. But I know somewhere inside that she’d follow me to the ends of the earth. She cannot leave and I can’t let her go.
Oh, desperado it might be raining but there’s a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you
Before it’s too late