novel seven

August 4th, 2008

I watched a film and it felt familiar. It felt so familiar, in fact, that at a certain point where the lovers are almost completely gone from his mind and they are recounting the first time they met whilst the house crumbles around them the only thing I could muster to do was to grasp at my chest cavity in despair and sob hopelessly. I feel empty. I look around and I see a guitar and I remember a person I do not know and my heart aches so for his gaze and his hands and his heart to beat next to mine. I long so to clutch at his chest cavity and sob wildly in desperation. His hands are worn and made for a guitar.
Today I broke my toenail and it shattered in half and seared deeply into my flesh and red life poured from my foot. I am left with the wounds that the doctor cut into me and can barely walk to your side. It isn’t a search for sex, a hot body next to mine, warm and all encompassing. It is a search for the other half if my soul, the completeness within my heart. I look around and see the sounds of humiliation, the defeat and murder of a defenseless bird, and I see the forgiveness in her face and my heart screams to be held but nonetheless I am alone and alone. I seek the closeness and intimacy.
I remember now that I gave you that song. I do not love you anymore. I love a man that does not exist to me yet, but he is out there and I will find him. I will stop thinking of you. It is no longer about you.
It is about me and my broken film. Lapsing back and forth. I see him and I running back and forth and burning away.