I sat there thinking “Like, why am I sitting here thinking”. The door slammed shut hours before. The floor was still covered in hand crafted glimmering crystal. Ironic isn’t it? She falsely blamed it all on a girl who shared something in common with what she used as a weapon on me. But I try to clear my mind of unkind times and rewind to find some sort of clarity. Composure in the love we shared, when I cared, about her and about us and about dreams. Yet at that point I just didn’t want to think. She had woken me from a few slim hours of wet dream happiness, to a stale winter air, and a cold shoulder careless aggression. No, 7 a.m. sessions don’t make me happy. I am too fucking grumpy to be nice. Yet she still spews to me all the reasons why she has a miserable life. While somewhere in between her bi-polar happiness and screams, she finds a way to put the blame on me.
She told me she needed some things that seemed dismally unimportant in a life where all that matters is love, but like I’ve said, I was too fucking grumpy to speak, let alone deal with drama prolonged for far too great of time. The mind isn’t meant to deal with others insanity. Shit, I have trouble enough with my own. I remember the whole place stunk of last night’s drunken masturbation and my plans of female domination in compromising positions. Do you know that smell of solo sex? That desperate perfume of “Damn, I need the comfort of a warm woman”. And yet here one stands before me to take what she felt was hers. While I feel walked upon, trampled down, an un-important part of the equation she was still trying to figure out. Yet without me, there wasn’t one. The irony just gets thicker.
I remember cleaning the day before. How glorious a clean place is to be in, and what a way to have my day begin. She was doing fine when she arrived. I stopped and thought about all the times when I’d open my eyes and she’d be at the foot of my bed like an odd surprise that nearly soiled my bottoms on more than one occasion. This led to me barricading the sliding door, which for her was no deterrent for sure, just a reason to become more brazen. Yet today she figured she’d warn me before her intrusion.
All and all, some of the things she came to collect where hers to do with what she would. But when she went for my blanket, the only thing I had left to drape over me now that she was gone, I had to change the tune of this early morning song. The color of the room was no somber mood blue any longer. It had shifted to escalated yellow, bubbling over orange and finally rage filled red, as insults spewed from both love lost tongues and filled the drums of my ears with more reasons to toss this situation aside, like the glasses she let glide through the air at my head. A sense of dread filled her brown eyes for sure, but where it cause she let go, or I’m not dead?
I am not one to hit a woman. Not even months earlier when ribs were bruised from tapestries abused and her fists were used to display discomfort. Yet, now her dread quickly turned to fear when I would not adhere to just giving in. Not that I compete to win, or even compete for that matter, but that latter seems to dissipate when irate you become at the soul you once put equal to number one.
I thank her for leaving so quickly. The situation had gotten so sticky, and was about to be unstuck even quicker. She bolted for the door and the phrase from its slam, slammed back “No more”. So I stare at the floor covered in love lost frustrations, and think about all the libations that now have one less home. As my mind begins to roam I think to myself “Like, why am I sitting here thinking”?
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