I’m in College Station, Texas listening to a bunch of Corps of Cadets people talk in a language that is as Greek to me as Mandarin Chinese. Fun fun.
Towards the end she said she thought I cared more about my dog than I did her, but she must’ve forgotten those puppy dog eyes of mine that used to follow her around all too eagerly.
There’s this face staring back at me in those opulent optics. It’s distorted, a fun house mirrored face, but it’s distinguishable as the face of longing. In the glint of her pupils I can make out my own, open wide and eager, transfixed. It’s a face I caught in a glimpse as my own eyes dart from that vaporous smile, coy and hard to grasp, to that hair tucked back loosely floating on the most diaphanous of sound waves permeating the cleared out opening. Had the sun not shone just at the angle over my head as it had it might’ve been a look overlooked, never to be seen by the wearer. Caught in that tender paralysis that my brushing fingers along her forearm brings, as if the shivers it provoked rattled my very spine, I was able to see the scene from both sides.
A nervous boy, relishing in the goose bumps that her voice erected, staring back intently like a Labrador retriever forever poised just as the ball is to be thrown; both innocently ignorant and blissfully sublime in that moment and intent on obtaining nothing but the prize forever before him. Keep your eye on the ball. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was almost panting, but it’s merely his heart and mind that are racing, chasing his tail. And as she folds her hand into mine I see the reflection in those gilded orbs of my own puppy dog eyes glistening back with only one thing in their sights: pretty girl. As she laughs at my silence and pulls me into a hug all I can think is puppies must understand the drive, man’s best friend indeed.
I’m always writing about the same three people like some sort of fucked up holy trinity.
As fucked up as it is I wish I had three people to write about like you. The holy trinity just sounds so poetically perfect. That said I’m right there with you.
I just had shy of a liter of whiskey and I’m somehow still alive and sober. I can’t even escape from myself anymore. If you’ve run to the edge of the Earth where next do you run?