coauthor

Today has been a lonely one, shimmering with some kind of beautiful sorrow, strange.
Earlier, at a cafe, I found myself watching strangers come and go. They were seated at tables, driving automobiles and walking down sidewalks -- and they were all beautiful.
I was hoping to assume the position of writer with a hot cup of coffee for company, but such was not the case. The coffee was neglected, the pen was silent and I was a quiet spectator. No thoughts and not a single word emerged from within. Those beautiful strangers had silenced my universe.

My life hasn't changed -- things are different, that's all. My consciousness now glows with a keener sense of comprehension and mindfulness. It's as if my previous 28 years were lived under the foggy haze of a perpetual hangover. My eyelids were lifted, the heart functioned and the blood was hot, moving. I was simply a being sustaining himself.
Now, all synapses are firing, my irises are flush with a vibrant blue -- and I'm blessed.

But today was tinted with sorrow and loneliness. I wish this new chapter of mine could be coauthored with her, that elusive ghost. Who is she? Where is she? Is her pen in hand? Does she even exist?
I tremble at the thought of sharing time&space with a kindred soul. I girl comprised of values, morals, opinions -- and most importantly, self-respect.
Looking back, the girls I entangled myself with were car wrecks and I their willing airbag.
We collided.
And I deployed.
Embraced their careless impact.
Our vehicle was towed yet it was I and I alone left in the cold damaged shell.
Deflated.
Empty.
Used.
A temporary safety device.
Now useless.
Reduced and diminished.

But not anymore.

I used to wonder why I was always attracted to the car wrecks, the girls with "issues." I suppose their vulnerability turned me on. They lacked respect for others (including me) and themselves. But ultimately, I was fond of them because of what they provided -- a fuse. And to the man in love with self-destruction, a fuse is the cherubic cheek of destiny.

- B O O M -

And as the smoke lifts and dissipates, I see a battlefield littered with soiled love letters and crippled valentines.
And I'm okay.
I'm walking away.
Intact.
And unscathed.
But before I depart this scarred territory, I take a knee and cradle the remnant of a broken heart, and to this cold stone I say, "I hope the girls of fractures and splinters -- the girls from yesterday -- I hope they make it out okay. I really do."
And I rise to my feet, gently place the stone in my pocket and I look above. And I look ahead. And I say, "Where are you, my love?"

Shalom,
mc