There was a time when it all went wrong.
The soft sensual touches still sends shivers down my spine. The warmth in dark nights, the want to have those memories remain were sweet. How we couldn't imagine anything else. The velvet caress and the longing looks throughout the days. The long hours, and short nights, intertwining fingers, whispering sweet nothings to each other. The thrill and excitement that came with being under the stars alone. The little things that were once mundane, had become exhilarating. If the heaven's ever did speak, you were the last true mouth piece.
A free heart and a stable rock were told to us to be a combination to provide the foundation of an never ending relationship. But there was a brainteaser about your rock. Something that was quirky, fun, and a little bit mysterious. You poked, and your prodded, you let your curiosity fly when we were younger. I still had high walls. Walls so high I wasn't sure anymore if they were to keep others out, or to keep me in. And when you lost interest in probing because other interests rose and I had shut you out for so long. I would eagerly wait for you to ask again, but time eroded the thoughts, and you never asked again. But it was ok, I continued to remove the rumble from the fallen walls with such zeal it was reminiscent of 1989. You laughed at my paranoia, it was odd, silly, but you didn't know better, and your innocence was adorable.
I still remember the dark place, and at times it makes me stronger, carving me out of wood. My resolve, unshakable. At times, it ruins me. Scars, stitches, fragile thread that can pop at the seams so easily like a small over used played doll. But unlike the dolls you played with as a child, no one else fixes this one. When you're done with others they were trash, and no one returned to them. This one knows how to use thread, he has plenty of needles. He's done it before. Restitched himself together, sometimes even with parts that don't belong.
And there's still that time when everything went wrong. I don't think anyone can point to that moment. The walls weren't there any more, so the rocks you tossed struck and pulled the threads to the most sensitive areas. The doll tried to get up and correct what was going on with you. But the doll found an opposing wall facing him. So he turned, and left, because the walls were too high and were too thick to work on. The doll didn't go far, it sat, and stacked a few rocks around itself in a dark little area he was familiar with. The doll has repaired the broken threads again, and continues to pass the needle through himself. He's not fixing anything anymore, but he continues to pass it through, it's all he knows how to do to fix anything. The needle is wearing away the threads, and the fabric is becoming loose, and the insides are coming out from the constant use of the needle. But he continues, because self destruction is better than allowing anyone else to do it to him.
- Writer, soldier, thinker, and science fiction lover. I just can't seem to find a way to divide my adventurous self of constant outdoor activity and exercise from my nerdy self playing games and going to conventions. So why not just be both?
I am a young professional living out of Tallahassee, Florida for the past five years. I have been on a deployment with the United States Army and continue to work outside of my other occupations to better myself mentally and physically. My passion for writing is driven by my passion for everything I find entertaining in life, and of course by my friends and family.