TFTY, no. 3 - How A Heart Breaks

I’ll be honest, when I determined to blog again and to tell my story, I didn’t expect the vulnerability to be this hard.

When I decided - not without trepidation - to share this memory, it was alarming. All the bells and whistles of my coping mechanisms began sounding off like a klaxon warning, threatening to trip my emotional shut-down switch. IN CASE OF EMERGENCY - PULL LEVER.

But this is the pact I’ve made with myself, and there is no going back. Not while there is a burning in my blood and hope on the horizon. I will write my truth. God forgive the rest. 

(in the interest of preserving certain pertinent reputations - a disclaimer - to whom it may concern, this post is not sexual in nature, only intimate - a word I intend to win back from the world)

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We were already broken. That much was true. Words like weapons had already been spoken. There was no going back, no erasing the past.

Yet, there we were, making out under a moonless sky; helpless, hopeless, but full of fire.

 

It’s a strange truth of the universe, and one I have not yet completely figured out – things change.

 

There we were, in a parked car – staring at the stars and hoping for some semblance of hope that the truth wasn’t true. Wishing we could turn back time.

 

We kissed, and, Oh!, I’ll never understand what time does to kisses.

This is youth: tongues touching tongues in sweet wet mouths, intent on tasting, intent on touching as much as possible, more than possible – so much pleasure, yet so much pain. It will never make sense, but it will always be wonderful.

 

I held her in my arms, and there is a memory that arms have, which minds do not understand or control. There is no room for logic in intimacy – she was close, and that’s all I know. That’s all I could know, when wonder possessed me, and I knew that she was close.

 

All I knew was my lips were as alive as I was, and so were hers. This wasn’t lust, but it wasn’t love, either.

It was the aftermath, the in-between, where things belong but they don’t, and everything can be anything except what it was. This is how a heart breaks.