I heard those blasphemous rumors and I wondered aloud... Did God have a sick sense of humor? Something about feeling out of place. Something about death and those left behind. I think the curse of the only child is that he only finds comfort in isolation yet craves the companionship of the crowd.
It's a conundrum. Getting older, feeling more alone, but feeling more loved.
There's this house I never drive by. I avoid it at all costs. The scent in the air in that neighborhood is different. A sweetness that sticks to the roof of my mouth. But the taste of death, it still lingers.
I go into sensory overload on occasion. A certain movie. Usually, a small scene in some cinematic screenplay of mediocrity. An obscure song. Usually, that song no younger person dares to dance in front of the mirror to, Usually, that song that has its own unique meaning to the listener as he or she wonders what could have been.
Sometimes, it's just that house. The one that transformed an ordinary lost boy into a confident insecure man. A house that is a metaphor for everything but is defined by the paradox I have become.
I still see a certain face bearing an uncertain stubbornness unwilling to reveal who he really is while willing to bear the cross of all those who chose to call him 'friend'.
I still hear the laughter in the kitchen as we spoke of tomorrow as being a lifetime away.
I still smell the alcohol emanating from his pores while wearing a smile that fooled no one.
I can still taste her. Her dreams. Her angst disguised as cramps. All of her.
I can touch the ghost of each thought I dare to conjure up at any given moment.
It's simply sensory overload brought on by something so random
And so remarkable
But it's so much deeper than I dare to try and explain
Because some things are unexplainable
And some things are never meant to die
Like our memories.
But, hey, I'm just starting to discover
Myself.
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