I
spend every day feeling bitter and lost,
Remembering
kissing in the dim light of bedrooms,
The
bold glare of parking lots,
In
the humid shade by the water.
Remembering
making out like teenagers, as teenagers,
With
that fevered passion that was all about the sensation on your skin,
all
about the pounding of your heart and the thrill of a shared experience
The
sound of swallowed moans and the thrum of the stereo
Gasps
and groans, sultry laughter and promises
Drowning,
and loving it
No
anticipation, just the moment.
I
miss it.
I
remember my various partners, never knowing who I long for the most,
or
if I long for them at all.
I
long for the moment.
Love
can come later. I have so little hope for love, so little success with
the damn thing, all I associate with love is love lost.
Maybe
I don't believe in love at all, only the hoped-for illusion of love, brought
to life by the flame, the electricity, the atomic power of lust.
Longterm
relationships are mutual agreement, friendship, but no guarantee of love.
At
any rate, it isn't love I fantasize about.
Not
love I cry over.
It's
kissing.
Kissing.
Not
even sex. Just kissing.
I
see couples kiss on tv, and I just well up, my heart spiked with a brief
sharp pain.
The
bitter rot of jealousy.
I
hate it.
I
hate it.
I
hate feeling this way, feeling old and forgotten and tired at 24.
Feeling
hopeless.
Feeling
the certainty that while I may very well become self-sufficient,
Find
a job I like and do well, something that allows me to move into a place
of my own with my children,
I
will do it alone.
More
likely, I'll go from dependency to dependency, asking favors and relying
on outside help,
but
always on my own.
I
feel condemmed to a life of loneliness.
And
most of the time, I can deal with that.
It's
the kissing I miss the most.
I
imagine kissing people I pass,
I
imagine someone coming to my door,
Someone
I loved once...
Stupid,
stupid, stupid.
Fucking
stupid.
I
love my boys.
The
last time Stone took them overnight,
I
laid in bed and sobbed.
I
couldn't stop crying,
couldn't
stop thinking back to when I was watching them drive away
Logan
blowing a kiss
and
thinking,
"That
was the last time I'll ever see my sons."
and
I'd burst into tears all over again.
I
wanted to call Stone and tell him how I felt,
and
to hear the boys.
I
wanted him to bring them back, immediately.
And
I felt this incredible loss, this deep gash, wound,
that
I couldn't tell him how sad I was.
I
want to tell him that he can't take the boys anymore.
Of
course, I can't do that,
but
the drive is so strong I have to bite my tongue to keep from shouting,
"No!
You can't! I can't take it again! It hurts too much..."
I
don't know who I am anymore.
I
don't know what I want, or what I feel beyond these animal needs.
And
you, Anonymous Reader, can't help me.
Even
if you aren't as anonymous as I imagine.
I
have no friends I can talk to.
No
family I want to confide in.
Not
even a professional counsellor.
I
have only myself
...and
you.
copyright
2003 by Sarah Gaunt
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