Someone's Everything

The downward spiral has begun, and there is no getting out of it now that we have crossed that line that divides the sane and possible from the insane and impossible, but when the impossible is possible but still insane, that is when things start to go wrong, like this was, right from the start.

I curl up to his body at night and hold him in my arms, but everything I thought I would have just by having him, is not there, and I realize I have underestimated what he means to me, because just having him beside me and being able to make him archgaspmoancry is not all I want, and what I realize, with a feeling of growing nausea, is I want all of him. His soul should be dependent on me and when I leave the room a light should go out in his eyes, so everyone can see, and everyone will know, that he is mine now. But no one even knows about this frantic, thoughtless tumbling, and I hate you for your assumed superiority, all I want is for you to see us here on my bed bitingstealingtaking whatever we want. Only I do not want you to see the way his lips silently form your name when his eyes are screwed tightly shut, hands twisting around the sheets, and I do not want you to see the way he rolls away when we are finished, and becomes motionless.

I cannot get to him like you did, his soul is gone and only sometimes - when he comes choking into the pillow, or when I lie entangled in his arms on the couch while the sun shines down, leaving intangible patterns on his skin - I can feel his soul right there, so close I can almost touch it, but I do not know how to just pull him just one inch closer to me, and any move I make destroys what I have come so close to, and he is unreachable again.

I am becoming desperate, I have the feeling of waiting, of dead, dead still before a storm, and everything has gone silent. I can feel the storm clouds coming, sucking, swirling, destroying everything in their path, but they are not quite here yet and we are left hanging, fucking mindlessly to pass the days until whatever is coming comes, because we both are waiting for it, though I do not know what it is bringing. A happy ending seems impossible now. Happy endings do not exist in reality he told me once, laughingly, jokingly, real, live, tangible and now he is slipping away, his ribs becoming singularly defined, his cheekbones taking prominence, accentuated by the shadows underneath his eyes like careless sweeps of a paintbrush. He is full of hollows and negative spaces, and it makes it so hard to keep hold of him when there is so little left to hold on to.

The days are slipping by faster now, falling away and blurring into sunlight and dark and lips on skin, burning hands and rustling sheets. A pressure is growing inside my chest that threatens to burst, and I want something desperately, but I do not know what it is. Desperation has become something I wake up with every morning, and sleep with every night, and something that whispers my name in those drowsy quiets when it is so still that my breathing interrupts the stifling silence, and I really do think I am going crazy, but then crazy people do not know they're crazy, and that is the fact that makes them insane. But then that does not make sense, because insanity is tugging at my heels, and I feel it and recognize it for what it is, and I almost embrace it, because maybe, with insanity, will come oblivion, and then I will not care that he doesn't really love me after all, and that no matter how many times I try and tell myself otherwise we are using each other, me to try and live what I always wanted even though this is never what I dreamed about, and him to imagine that everything is back to how it was, and nothing has changed, and he still has everything.

But this frantic role play cannot go on much longer and I know the end is near and the time has come.