They sat together under stars and the contorts of cliche, between words he had spoken five times too many. He would have left her there, took up his heart, left his hand resting in hers, but he wasn't strong enough. She was an easy lay. There. I said it.
And while we're at it... He was me. I thought about another girl while I fucked her. I thought about Kathryn and Elizabeth and Lucy. I don't care anymore. I stayed with her for three months or so because she was blowing me. Is that a story? I have no fucking clue. I'm sure someone is interested.
Have you ever felt so disgusted with yourself that you just felt like not even reacting, pretending nothing important happened? I've let a dozen girls think that we shared some sort of special bond, feeding them bullshit about how I had never really found love before. Had they talked to each other, the scripts probably would have matched up perfectly. I'm such a great guy.
I'm afraid that every genuine moment I have ever had in my life is going to be muddled into a mess of lies and hard feelings. That's my biggest fear. I'm afraid that I will never actually get a chance to live because I will never have a place to start from.
I was never born.
Wanna hear some images that I've used a million times and still get praised for?
The contortions of her smile in the light of a blinking sun warmed me more than the summer ever could have. I looked out on the pull of tide, the crash of water over lovers' toes, and knew what the world really was: an expansiveness only found in my endless love for you.
That's basically all I write. Oh yeah. And it talk about winter and describe months with colors. Impressed yet?
I gave up sex for six months to try finding myself. It's not that I don't know what the issue is. I just don't fucking care. Sorry.
I faced my mortality at the age of five, at the age of seven, at the age of twelve, at the age of thirteen, at the age of fourteen, at the age of sixteen, the day before yesterday. I'm afraid of dying.
This was supposed to be some sort of self-revelation piece. I actually had a fucking plan for it, the perspective shift- the first time I used the word fuck. And this is where it took me.
I'm probably 300 words in. I've summed up very little. I've come off like some pathetic sex-obsessed jackass trying to draw some sympathy out of people by being "honest" with them. Honestly. That's kind of what I am.
I pretend to have read books I can't even name the author of.
Did you call me last night? I really needed you to. It wasn't urgent or anything. It wasn't an emergency. I just needed to hear the voice of someone who knows what I really am, who knows me more than I know me. You know what I feel like. That's something I've often wondered, what it is like to sit in a room with me, with my arm around you, with my sentiments buried deep between your legs.
God tried to get me to pick up some Chinese food on the way home. I didn't feel like it.
I'm not going to stop writing until I've found something in the echoes of these words. I know I have something to say. We all have something to say. If I don't find something worth knowing in the blinking pixels on this screen, I will seriously kill myself.
I had a friend named Jacob. He was the loveliest young man I had ever seen in the fog of weedsmoke. He killed himself. Overdose. Some prescription shit. I don't even remember anymore. It was probably the most defining moment of my life and I don't even care anymore. He killed himself because I slept with his girlfriend. Awesome story, right? Why do people think that? Fucking the girl my best friend thought was his love is probably the worse thing I could have possibly done. That in no way justifies things. I take no solace in that little fact.
I've already told that story enough times. I doubt there's any more to pull from it.
I gave Crystal a handshake when she leaned in. That was a shitty day. I knew what I was supposed to do, but I couldn't make the move. That's usually what happens when I want someone for nonsexual purposes. I clam up and do something awkward. I slept with her a couple moths later by using that story to look cute. Girls tend to like thinking their beauty makes you a little embarrassed.
Goddamn it!
I tried to bring a lizard back to life by using cpr. I think I was nine. It bit my lip and held on for a good half an hour. Do you think there was something in that lizard's bite that I needed to see? Was he trying to wake me up to something I didn't yet know.
I've masturbated on a swingset before. It was my neighbor's, and they were out of town. That sums me up better than those other stories. I've only ever been able to find real "self-love" in really odd environments. What a shitty play on words that was.
All of these paragraphs seem to start with "I." In fact, the ones that don't originally did. I've changed a couple of them so I wouldn't seem so self-involved.
Yeah. This is about a thousand words and I've got nothing. I hope you didn't actually read this.
*bang*
(matt sits on his bed, bullet through his skull, body slumped over the computer screen)
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