(no subject)
He looked me in the face, the way I have seen him do, only once in our short history together. Short? I am not sure what is short, or what is long these days. Furthermore, I do not understand what defines either. Anyway, he looked me in the face. He looked into one eye, which is what everyone does, though it is never described that way. I mean, if you try to look into both of someone’s eyes at once, you find yourself lost, some place near the upper bridge of their nose, and looking rather cross-eyed to the one person whose attention you are trying to command. So he looked into one of my eyes, and he said “The world’s got me dizzy again, you’d think after twenty three years, I’d be used to the spin”. Anyway, so I looked away, at his shoes, so down I suppose. And after a few seconds I looked back into one of his eyes and I said “How poetic of you, though I’m afraid those words are stolen, forged, from a man who felt much more, much before you, besides, he was twenty two”. He sighed, and breathed my name, as though it pained him to even pronounce it, and with a voice much more his own said “Well, you know the sentiment is just the same. Don’t contradict me with technicalities such as plagiarism. You tell me what is truly one’s own these days. Anyway, my inspiration does not lie here, or reside with you. So dear, I’m afraid you’re aware of what I must do”. And at that moment I saw something in his eyes that was not there a moment before. I was busy musing about the possibility of imported capabilities, just landing inside someone, transforming them in only a matter of seconds. And with that thought, I wondered if he would shoot me. Not that he possessed a rifle, or anything that involved gun powder. I thought about another line in the song he had just stolen his profundities. The line rang through my mind, a mimicry of the loaded vocals, resonating around my brain: “You’ll be free child once you have died”. At that moment I was a self-possessed woman, for perhaps the first time in my life. So completely sure of his motives I decided to play his game. “Don’t, I know what you‘re thinking, so don‘t. If you walk away, I’ll walk away, just tell me which road you will take. I don’t want to risk our paths crossing some day, so if you walk that way, I’ll walk this way”. He looked into my other eye, and grinned, his eyes glistening mockingly, as though he pitied me some. He laughed, and shrugged my hand from his shoulder. It’s funny, I don’t even remember placing it there. Maybe I put it there when accusing him of planning to kill me. He said, “Come, baby. You know the way the song goes. And you know what I will say next. SO sing it with me.” And at that moment, he grabbed my hand, squeezing the beats, and we sang “I’ve grown tired of holding this pose, I feel more like a stranger each time I come home”. After that, I truly noted the irony in the fact that the only defining moment in our relationship had come with the theft of another mans words. He knew it too. He looked me, square in the eyes this time, because somehow that is different. And he said “I know I’m leaving, but I don’t know where to.”