I roll over, nearly on top of her and try to look at her face. Fair skin, natural sweet-smelling soft brown hair covers her forehead. I push it back because I want to look at her big, beautiful, blue eyes. I see them look back at me only they’re flat. They don’t really see me they only see some large hairy object.
She smiles at me but I can tell it’s only muscle reflex. I try to gaze a bit longer but I can tell there’s no one in there, at least no one who wants to see me. I ask her, “What’s the matter baby?”
“Nothing, why?” She gives a fain smile and annoyed laughs, “You always think there’s something wrong, stop asking.”
“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
…
I’ve come to figure out over the past few months that there has been nothing between us. There’s only a numb sensation and comfort in the ritual of having some company. After nearly three years time it’s hard to see clearly. You have a vague blurred vision, which is nothing more than your projected expectations and love you impose on the object of that person you once knew before.
Time drifts us apart and often drags us to many places we don’t want to be. I don’t know a whole lot about love and romance, but damn does it drag you down. Our fling was wonderful in the beginning. We became close to each other only after a few weeks. Closer than either of us has ever been with any other being.
We loved hard and with such love there was no choice but to be consistently bruised and hurt. But we always took it. The love seemed worth it. We were intensely drawn to one another, not having any option to resist. Yet, when we came too close we collided, persistently crashing headfirst. It was never due to either of us wanting to be malicious; desiring to hurt each other. Rather, there was almost no choice. There was an overwhelming magnetic pull but once pulled together there was a lack of connection. The love was never properly received it only transferred as blurry static, never registering. No matter the yearning or desire the love was lost amongst us. Communication is integral, I suppose. I was expressive she was subtle. I know there was always love there inside both of us but we could never understand and only drove each other to anger, madness, and finally to a state indifference.
Indifference is worse than hell in regard to love. It’s much better to be hated. Hate is merely a sidestep from love. It’s the same passion but only a different transference. But indifference is absence: a state of non-existence where you cease from one’s mind. Many fear the idea of hell but what I believe to be more frightening is the void. Total annihilation.
I find it much better to lay in bed alone and feel blue than to gaze into flat eyes. It’s falling into a vacuum. Eyes that don’t see you but only see some object. That gaze is more crushing than your most nasty or brutal fights. You become nothing.
…
I now climb on top of her and kiss her neck. She turns away and looks up toward the ceiling. I get the point and roll off. It’s been like this for some time now. Despite feeling frustrated and once again rejected, I can’t blame her. Although she can’t bring herself to admit it she’s been looking at me with those large, blue, flat eyes for quite some time.
We lay in bed for a while and now she’s lying on her stomach on the verge of falling asleep. I try to put my arm around her with the hopes of at least snuggling in bed but by now she’s either asleep or at least pretending. I roll on my back, put up the volume on the television and pretend to watch whatever is on. I think it’s Pawn Stars or some other bullshit History Channel show. I’m not paying attention I just need distraction.
I space out and let my mind go blank for a good ten or fifteen minutes. By now I trust that she’s actually asleep and if she’s not I don’t care. But due to either habituation or my desire for affection I kiss her on the forehead and tell her I have to go to the bathroom and will be right back. She only responds by making a slight mumble. She’s actually asleep. I go downstairs and hang around the kitchen for a while and pour myself a drink of vodka from the freezer and chase it down with a beer.
Bored, horny, and numbed I actually now go to the bathroom and masturbate. I fantasize of all the things I would’ve loved to do with her and feeling a bit bitter I also fantasize about people I know she hates. It’s my own quiet yet pathetic form of retaliation. But after the release my excited distraction is gone. I’m back to my previous state of numbness that’s now beginning to drift to sadness. Not wanting to tear up alone on a toilet with cum on my hand, I wash up and head back to the kitchen. I pour myself another drink and down two more beers while listening to Kanye’s “Lost in the World.”
Feeling buzzed, sad, but mostly indifferent I go back upstairs, undress, and climb into bed with her. I put headphones into my laptop and keep listening to some music for a while. I hope the music will lull me to sleep since I have to get up fairly early in the morning but it doesn’t help. It’s about 3am and despite the heavy drowse from the alcohol and late hour my mind will not let go and allow me to drift into sleep. I decide I might as well be remotely productive so in my stupor I write a silly little rant I title A Fart. I find it to be fitting for my mood. It seems to work as a mild form of therapy. After finishing the short rant I manage to stop thinking of those flat eyes long enough to fall asleep.
