high jackal

And so it begins.  Meandering writings and thoughts, somehow thought to be of some use down the line. Like a reference guide to my misery.  Are we going to start at the beginning, or are we going to jump right into the present…where the hurt is palpable and fresh?  A throbbing wound of heartbreak the likes of which gets minced and regurgitated in the movies?  Everything that is happening right now is very real.  Like a sledgehammer to my existence, I've been shattered.  My reality is all too real.  All too raw and in my face.  Like a wet slap.  Wow.

I’ll get to the point eventually.  Right now, I need to find my words…my vocabulary.  It’s how I’m ultimately going to present this bitter, unbelievable story.  Right now, right now, it’s all just a buzz of words and feelings and emotions coursing through my body and brain like a high-speed train on speed.  I am, without a doubt, completely without compass.  I am a floating chunk of mass in the ever-present nothing. Cavernous voids swallow me up with nary a sound.  Whole.

I will plant my flag in the sand one last time, and attempt to claim this land as my own. To stake my existence up against that of the stranger and marvel them with tales of lost love, disappointment and fear.  One mustn't forget the fear.  Even the air is stale and un-refreshing in this place. 

I will soak up the memories and mistakes…pour it all out over my psyche and attempt to craft a worthy monument to post teenage angst and helplessness.  Of a man who never was, and a girl who never was.  Of how two lives can dance so close together and yet never truly cross paths.  So fucking close together.  The smell.  The indescribable tension and softness that filled the air.  How the sun shined brighter, crisper.  Her voice.  Her laugh.  The real one.  Oh God, I don’t want to remember this.