Spread Hope Like Fire

Duality. October 9, 2011

I am divided. Relentlessly and unavoidably. Always and forever.

I wish it were colder tonight. I wish it were darker. I wish the clouds lay thicker. I wish those things so that I could just remain out here, exposed, until the cold and the dark would eventually snuff out all of the light and the warmth. Then, finally and gloriously, I would perhaps be able to know what it is to just feel nothing at all. What unspeakably beautiful relief that would be.

Hand in hand, I also wish that she and I could stay up all night together, talking, kissing, touching one another, and listening to wonderful music that need not be restrained by genre. And, most of all, I wish that, for once, it didn’t make me feel bashful or inferior or self-conscious or reticent to be a romantic. Not a hopeless romantic, though. My predicament is quite the opposite. I’m a hopeful romantic, and therein lies my problem. My hope makes me hopeless. I’m a goner. I’m a lifer. And it’s going to kill me.

Just drain this disease from all the veins in my neck and paint the walls with my brains.