There was an odd fate
in a man as he secured his relationship in love. It was like snapping on a
belt that kept privacy far away from the awkward loop holes and zippers that
pubic hair was caught in. There was an odd hope inside a man, as he watched the
woman he spent many nights fantasizing about walking away with his soft words
in her hands, with his greatest needs knitted together as a scarf for winter.
There was a strangeness in love like that. It came with two faces, the face
revealed in intimacy with the white lies of culture’s predetermined ideals, and
the face of solitude, that indifferent face of a child being reborn over and
over again, and screaming in pain in the doctor’s hands, because it lungs had
yet to develop to air.
That was the awkward
serious look of fear that entered Sigi as he wondered about his life, of a
closeness that aroused him and scared him, like running his fingers through a
fire and hoping his flesh didn’t catch flames from a black wick.
He wanted to run back
and explain things to her, things the night would take away. He wanted to tell
her how pretty he thought she was, and how smart and level headed but the words
had bitten his tongue and he didn’t have the confidence to gravel, to admit she
was better than him, to admit she didn’t need him. It was him who needed her.
Like the way the eyes needed to see a beautiful sunset to remember God again,
to believe in the depth of the ocean, and the empty darkness of outer space, he
needed to believe in her. It had become his only purpose.
He thought of her open
legs before him. He thought of her satisfaction at her cumming to his hard
cock, over and over again. But that wasn’t Martha, Martha was conservative in
spirit and mind, she would never ask for what he wanted to give. She would
never get on her knees and beg for his glory, his stiffness in the heat. No,
she would be cold and isolated even in his most vulnerable moments. She would
look away and not notice the tears in his eyes, the world within him that was
slightly showing through, from effort and through perceptions. She wouldn’t
notice him at all. She would only see how beautiful and orderly their house
was. She would compliment him on his achievements and that would be their
climax. That would be their life, a slow moving heart that beat, like a frog
that lived under the murky water of the spirit and was constantly waiting for
someone better. Waiting for someone to kiss the skin that was riddled with
warts, and turn the ugliness that God gave mankind into something of worth,
another person’s fool’s gold, but a savor would only feel cheated when they
tried to resell their prince. For fool’s gold had nothing of value when it was
re-melted, only in its true form did it fool the eye.
Sigi would be alone when he was screaming in
agony, screaming in passion inside her four walls. He would be alone and she
wouldn’t even understand. She would look at him lovingly as if she was a bird,
and all that would be left between them would be feathers, the explanations for
lost thoughts, the representations for his dreams, the distant belief that
everything could change if only rationality could glue together the distant emotions
of expectations.
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