Deceptions of DesireMature

The blackness of the night envelops my body with chilled warmth, my eyes dart the road back and forth searching, and I smile. My heart beats a rhythm deeper, harder, faster and more alive than I have ever felt.  I am lost but I feel free. My mind not on the shadow, or the man’s voice which I must have outrun, but for the first time my own voice rings through the dark silence of the suburban neighborhood, it speaks of my life, my wants, desires, my hate for life, my love for that which I may not know to be true. Slowly I walk in a direction I cannot know toward a vision I do not understand. 

He stands before me or I imagine him walking beside me, his hands reaching toward me to touch me to feel my presence as I long to feel his. My mind is filled with these confused illusions, perverse deceptions of fantasy. I do not feel him as his hands reach my body and touch the carcass of emotion I have become. If I did would I push him away? Do I want this? Would I run from these feelings or toward?

I ring my hands through my eyes; pull at my hair to drill him out yet all I see are his delicate hands. Are they really as small? They move along with me reaching for support, I drop mine into his, letting the illusion rest its head on my shoulder just for a minute. This is not Benny; he would never reach for me this way, why would I want that?

“No!” I yell at the top of my lungs, scattered life evades the of a dark suburban road, and I find myself alone, again. Dropping my backpack I spit at the ground and kick at the memory until it is dead, I wipe from my jacket where his hands were pressing against my chest, rip from my head the hair he touched when his head rested against my shoulder. I am not this person, I am not the one who is SICK. I kneel in the street fist of hair punching the concrete wishing to a god I might not ever meet that I could understand why: Me? Him? This life? These conflicted reasons? Why my parents couldn’t just see me? Why June and Ward had to be so FUCKING NICE? I don’t want Benny that way at all.

So why do I care so much when I cannot feel him?

 My body slumps onto itself and I see a light coming toward me. I am sore, I have blood on my hands and my eyes bleed wetness down my face. I see a dark road leading toward a park, I pick-up my backpack and book it, away from the light, away from the suburban night watchers, the illusion and my concrete stained feelings behind me.

The End

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