I would think about that night for years. I would crawl on my hands and knees through each moment until I found where I lost control. My self, me, my life and all that I was. It was an orange in my hand that at some point I let slip. So small and so round. And I let it go. And I saw it tumble into the silent dark.
I was determined not to let her get away again. I thought myself an idiot, but now I see myself as a pitiful child. Theo always made fun of me for not being cuddly. But the truth, which is painfully obvious, is that I have mixed it with intimacy and in seeking solace, I sought her.
It’s not so much as her mask slipped but that between each lighting of each cigarette, I was face to face with someone whose face I had painted over with my stories. Whose life I had hitched a ride on. A tangential spirit that I clung onto with the seeking hands of a child and thrust into my soul.
I would dream this dream and in this dream I would wake to dream it again.