For the minutes that I had his attention in the years of knowing him, I felt a fire in me that I’d never felt before and may never feel again. I’m not being dramatic when I say he makes me feel like nobody else. With just his attention, I had enough fuel to fly to Mars and back if the galaxy allowed it. The depths of hell he took me to, after swiping away the little crumbs of fake love he gave me are too familiar the second time around; almost comfortable. Maybe it’ll be easier to claw my way back up to the mortal realm this time around. Maybe I know the way back up this time. Will I let this happen again?? Probably not. Will this be the last time I see him alive? Could be. His condition leaves tons of room for psychopathy. For all I know, he’s spinning out in his own head, trying to grasp his cruel reality. Did he contract this condition as a punishment for leading me on the first time? I hope not. Though he hurt me in ways I’ll never hurt again, I couldn’t bear to be responsible for something so debilitating and permanent. Though he killed parts of me that may never come back to life, I want him to find love. Romantic love. He claims to know the love of God, but a follower of God could never leave someone in torn scraps on the dirty floor the way he did to me. In his lips, he took the last drop of hope I had for a sunny day tomorrow. In his hands he took the last ray of happiness I’ll have for a good while. Though I learned to live in black and white in my teen years, I hadn’t visited this movie set for some time now. I’ll have to adjust again to living like nobody sees me. I’ll have to practice staying out of the way so people don’t ask what’s on my mind. That’s a destination to which they’d never want to travel. That’s a reality they wouldn’t want to explore. The feeling of walking through a field of tulips and then waking up to find yourself sleeping under a cactus for shade. Tonight I will listen to the song “Colorblind”, by Counting Crows, so that I may pretend to be understood by somebody. The rest will solve itself with the clock that I enthusiastically takes every step towards my ultimate demise. My intentions wouldn’t be to rush the clock’s intentions, because I’m needed here on this unforgiving plane of existence. My intentions are to merely wait with anticipation for the impending relief that some fear and others take into their own hands. On the day I see the green in the trees, I’ll know that joy is awake again. I’ll know that my resilience wasn’t in vain. I’ll know that I can see his face without being transported to that same sub-infernal non-man’s land I’ve come to call home. Until then, I’ll make myself comfortable in this dark depth that allows nobody else to enter, as if waiting to be plucked from purgatory and be brought back into the light. (M)