A Piece of Fiction – Midnight At The Party

23 Sep

It’s midnight in this poetic darkness, but you do not see the words that I have inscribed on my forearm with that black marker we found in the street, and grabbed because we thought it would be a fun thing to bring to the party.

At that point we already had too much to drink,

But you never listened to me when I told you that it was enough – that we should stop.  You never listened to me when I told you that we shouldn’t take it so far; that I couldn’t take it anymore because I kept moaning it was all so good.

It was good, wasn’t it?  Even when I was lying we had those flickers of fun –

And when you passed out, I scribbled, “turd,” across your face and told you someone else did it.

I couldn’t believe how juvenile I was.  I looked at my hand holding the black marker, and ran out of the party, leaving you there.  I told you I was too blacked out.

I told you that when I saw those words scrawled across your cheek I knew it wouldn’t work, but I knew long before. I knew that evening you looked at me, while I begged for your support, on my knees, in tears because my life was so heavy sometimes and you said, “I can’t be there.”

You needed me you said, but nothing was wrong.

You didn’t know what wrong was, and so you told me that I was wrong all the time.  You told me that I didn’t accept you, you told me that I didn’t love you…

And you were right, I never loved you, not like that.

But what do I love anyway?  People, in general, with their terrible flaws that try to take each other down?  These weak, deteriorating beings that don’t last as long as the objects that they create.

It’s funny, I never miss you until I do.  And I think of that night, when I wrote liar on my own long-sleeved arm to remind myself to release you from me because you never had the courage to do it yourself.

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