The Sins of My Absolution
The stench of our humanity makes the room feel close, suffocating us. I am melancholy, trapped again by my own invariable pattern. I have spun myself a web only to find the strands too slick to climb. Forgive me. I can't seem to let this go.
You mean no more to me than any other. I will replace you when whatever tiny fascination you hold vanishes with the coming dawn. The sheets bind us together, saturated with sweat. Will you feel it when I'm gone? Will I?
An endless stream of traffic passes by below your window saving me from sleep. I am restless, unwilling or unable to lie quietly and take comfort from your closeness. The house is silent, waiting. If I close my eyes and forget your face, I can pretend you matter.
I can pretend you're him.
My limbs are tangled up in yours, skin clinging to skin in an attempt to stay my departure. Your arm is draped across my back pinning me down like a child holding close a toy to banish the darkness. What a horrible thing it is, to be cared for. Would it be so terrible if I cared for you?
I choke, unable to swallow through the dryness of my throat. The knowledge of what will happen tomorrow taunts me. It hovers between us unnoticed by you, as it has since you met me. The difference now is that come morning you will realize it for the first time.
You mean no more to me than any other, and yet I still feel the need tonight in our predawn darkness to kiss your cheek, whisper a soft good-bye that you will not remember and leave you with the illusion of having been loved.
I will forget your face in the days to come, but I will not forget you. Hate me if that will ease the pain. I understand.
You mean no more to me than any other. I will replace you when whatever tiny fascination you hold vanishes with the coming dawn. The sheets bind us together, saturated with sweat. Will you feel it when I'm gone? Will I?
An endless stream of traffic passes by below your window saving me from sleep. I am restless, unwilling or unable to lie quietly and take comfort from your closeness. The house is silent, waiting. If I close my eyes and forget your face, I can pretend you matter.
I can pretend you're him.
My limbs are tangled up in yours, skin clinging to skin in an attempt to stay my departure. Your arm is draped across my back pinning me down like a child holding close a toy to banish the darkness. What a horrible thing it is, to be cared for. Would it be so terrible if I cared for you?
I choke, unable to swallow through the dryness of my throat. The knowledge of what will happen tomorrow taunts me. It hovers between us unnoticed by you, as it has since you met me. The difference now is that come morning you will realize it for the first time.
You mean no more to me than any other, and yet I still feel the need tonight in our predawn darkness to kiss your cheek, whisper a soft good-bye that you will not remember and leave you with the illusion of having been loved.
I will forget your face in the days to come, but I will not forget you. Hate me if that will ease the pain. I understand.