Lucid Dreaming.

“The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to
the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed
down by the man’s body.” –
Be wary of
the things you crave at this hour. You’ll find yourself missing the bad kissers
and even the fraudsters. The gaping silence invokes a form of nostalgia you
can’t trust. Nostalgia written in braille. You stumble through the darkness
feeling for old memories. Anything looks good in this lighting. The way he
didn’t kiss you the first time you were alone and at the end of the night he
kissed you on your cheek right in front of your friends. “Chivalry is not
dead,” you claimed to yourself. But who says chivalry makes you the only one. When
he finally kissed you, it was 2am on a Friday. You had an inner monologue
condemning him to the rank of “worst kisser” yet you went on. Either he got
better or you fell in love. Either way you were screwed.
This is the
hour of clarity. You either wake up to a declaration of love or the deafening
realization that you are over him (or vice versa.) Neither shatters your world.
Forceful kisses and clumsy hands are exactly that at this hour. You can’t wait
to tell your friends how wrong you were. At this hour, whoever existed at 2am
no longer exists. Your regret has a shelf life of 5 hours, so you think. The
clarity is the illusion. You are still who you were 5 hours ago. You are what
you crave.

I make it a
point to sleep through both. They each represent an abyss I no longer have the
strength to battle. Some days this is true, but often it is not. Most days it
isn’t about the man. It is about the echoes of who I once was. Maybe if I
kissed him again, I would remember what it was like to be spontaneous, reckless
in love in the darkest nights. Maybe I would remember what it was like to feel
certain in the brightest days.
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