They overwhelm me, not letting go.
Meanwhile she is dressing the boy. Our child.
Taking care, I would have a fresh pot of coffee to wake up to. Writing dedication on
my brown sandwich bag. The sandwich that was made with care and genuine love.
And I, I haven’t even left the bed yet.
Trying to revive the rest of yesterday’s memory.
Like a perfect egoist.
Where did he suddenly come from?
How can this kid challenge my life in one night?
Luckily my cell phone saved me from freezing the turbulent flow of thoughts that
threatened to drown me.
“My one” lights up the screen with a light vibration, mimicking her light-hearted
sense of being.
“Ryan, are you up?” she asked.
Her voice was so gentle. The voice of the girl I fell in love with eight years ago.
We were kids, kids who felt they were a part of a perfect American love story.
She was always there for me. For better or worse. Good and bad.
Bad.
How do I always bring the bad?
Why does the bad feel so good?
I’m not a bad person.
I’m not.
Am I?
If only there was a button, to mute. pause. stop.
After all, any man would be happy to trade places with me.
Yes, so what if I don’t wake up in a Tribeca luxury penthouse every morning
wearing an Armani suit and driving a Maserati.
But I do have a warm house I can call home. A home full with light. Life.
I have a child who calls me dad and watching me with eyes full of love.
I have a wife who makes me fresh coffee every morning and makes sure to leave me
a sandwich with a note of “Have a perfect day my love”.
And I?
I sit under the Brooklyn Bridge with a 20-year-old kid, exposing my heart to him
like I never gave anyone else permission to see.
Why him?
I wonder if he’s also lying in bed, trying to disappear from the world.
From himself ….
I am just pathetic.
This is pathetic.
Poor man. If a man at all.
I went downstairs, drinking the coffee like it was a magic drug that will forget last
night.
Tempted take out the Jameson out of the closet.
He drank Jameson yesterday …
The smell of his cologne mingled with the smell of alcohol and created an
intoxicating aroma.
His taste is still in my mouth. And his smell stacked to my shirt… I can smell it
from the hall closet.
My eyes close again and my heart shifting gears up.
The sandwich sat on the counter.
Looking at me with disappointment.
Judging me.
I shoved it into my bag and left the house. as if I was hiding evidence.
The rain began to wet me like an old dishrag.
I wanted it.
I did not deserve to wrap myself with my jacket.
To wrap myself with him.
I let the rain punish me.
Full of hope that it will wash away the memory.
The memory that kept flooding my mind, filling me with guilt. What guilt? What is
it that I did wrong?
I clicked play,
Intentionally or not the song has jumped.
The same tune that until yesterday was completely foreign to me, suddenly
dominated every part of my body.
In a moment the noise of the city fell silent. I could feel his gaze on me, my body
shuddered as he held my hand.
the song went on, and all I could think about was him. That was the moment where
I realized what guilt surrounded me. I understood it. I understood it.
Something in me just wanted to keep walking down the street with headphones in.
Reviving the prohibited memory.
To walk among strangers, without judgment. They don’t know. She doesn’t know.
He knows, he definitely knows.
And I am among them, a stranger for a moment.
Another one…
one with a secret.
Song: Fortune | Little Dragon
