(6) The Sorrows of Young Writer September 6

If necessary, a man should live with a hurting heart rather than a closed one.




I cannot sleep at night since I have been sober. The dreams are becoming too vivid. And I think about her at night more and more often. It starts with one short memory and then I end up screening the whole story onto the ceiling. You stare into the darkness and you relive those moments swallowed by the past.

That first kiss when you pressed her against the cold wall and she realized that you made her feel like no one ever will. Or you just hope so, but in reality you don’t know. The images from our past are edited in our consciousness and the end result comes with the CGI effects and all that you felt is recaptured more intensively because back then it was 3D. Right now the memories have become 4D as you have a new perspective you have not had before; you’re looking from the future into the past.

I think about the way her hair smelled at night. I have read that women’s hair releases their pheromones. That is why I was ready to fuck my brain out when I smelled her hair. She was made for me. I made her the way I wanted, I created her. Isn’t that funny? I have created her and became at love with her, and once she is gone I find myself falling in love with her. These prepositions are the testament that there barely is a line between the sanity and reality. I lost my mind so I could avoid my reality. The reality was the fact I cannot be with her. Ever. She has captivated all of my senses.

Why can’t I be with her? We were too different. But once I got caught up in the moment I did not care. First time I felt the meaning of the word chemistry, and this time it was not synthesized in a lab. How could I let her go? Just like that, I let it slip ’trough my fingers to the deep. While I weep, while I weep…’

I cannot even hold a straight thought. I need to hear her voice. But as most of my fellow millennials I shy away from such a personal action and decide to write her a text message.

What should I write? If I let her see what has built up inside my soul after all those months she would not understand, she would think I am crazy and wouldn’t find me attractive. I have to play a game, as we are the children, always acted like ones…if we have gotten too serious we had to take a step back, downplaying our desire. We wanted to be children; it was the best way to face the fact that we needed each other in the world of grown-ups.

Perhaps I am sober so I can get high on her again. I’m picking up my phone. What should I write? I love you. That’s all there is. Instead I write: How are you?

I am not sober even when I am sober…