the blue feeling

…A deadly sunrise. The canopy all in pastels, not a breath of wind. Dew on the grass. A morning glow.
It melted into the shadows, breath hot on the leaves. The mask it wore revealed no expression, its body upright and taut as garrote wire. Waiting.
Inside it was cold, unaffected by the first rays.
It wore its skin like a sheath, and when the rays fell in beams across its back, the skin over its spine did not tingle. Not one bit…

She cries out for his touch, and she cries when she’s by herself. The swings of her moods are too much at times. At times she eats chocolate. Or toast. With her friends it's ice-cream. What can be done to ward off this feeling? Alone on a Sunday night when the girls have gone home…
On Sundays it’s heavy, it’s real bad, after the comfort of two nights falling asleep on his shoulder, waking up to his touch. Now she must fall asleep alone.
And then it's the week again, another work week at a shitty job. Her boss keeps the staff late, schedules last minute events they're obliged to attend. All that keeps her going is a bottle of wine or three with the girls on Wednesdays, they gather and drink and paint, after hump day. And then the thought of Friday, and freedom, and seeing him again. But every Friday night after work her boss keeps them behind for a meeting that seems to drag on forever. The meetings never affect her job and are conducted in a language she doesn’t understand. She struggles with the blue frustration of these days. Her life is lived in the short windows between.

Podcasts on the bus, on Friday afternoon when he goes to meet her. Joe Rogan. Bus station. Taxi. The Bulletproof Diet. Her door. Press pause. Friday night. Sex. Saturday night. Sex. Sunday morning, bus station. Podcast. Resume. Ferriss's MED approach. David D’s “Deep Inner Game.” Taxi. Home.
Skyrim, he knows he shouldn’t, can’t stop himself, his one vice.

So that day when she cracks and sobs when he wants to leave early is justified. He knows this. But she still feels bad for acting like a baby, for holding him back, for letting him be affected by this feeling, this blue feeling that has been creeping further and further into her marrow…

Click. Click. Click. Click, click. Click. Click, click, click.
Read read read read read read read.
MCTs. Pine pollen. Butter coffee. Krill oil. Ketones. Spirulina. All of them imports. Thank you Amazon. Butter and beef packed in ice.

…In the desert there are people. Solitary figures who walk in lines over the sand. And when they are gone their footprints stay in the dunes until the winds shift the sand. The winds move everything...

Episodes of Friends on repeat again. It helps. She can quote every single line, and she can hear a fragment of dialogue then place it by season and by episode. She tells him it’s like she knows them, like they are her friends.

 A string of goodbyes. They’re starting to abandon this country. A farewell party for a guy from whom I’ve grown distant. I am dating his ex. She cheated on him with another guy. Apparently. Whatever. Now I'm with her. It’s been six months already. Shit, that went fast.
She’s been good for me. But those puppy eyes…she relies on me.
How the rising and falling of breath, the sucking in and release of it, through the nose, is so much like the tides of the ocean. If you closed your eyes and just listened to the sounds the waves make it's remarkably similar to the sounds of breathing – 

“My beautiful man!” The way he makes her feel. The way he makes her cum. Afterwards he holds her and it’s nice. She doesn’t care about the neighbours, not when he’s around.

       every breath is new and unique. 
The transaction of breathing is a confirmation that you are alive, that you make a difference and affect the world around you, by breath alone you remove oxygen from the environment and then automatically convert it into carbon dioxide which you exhale. Carbon based being. You stay alive unconsciously, though, and mostly live on autopilot.

Well now what.
This isn’t what she planned. This is what he wanted, and it has been all along. What the fuck is she going to do now? She’s made no plans. She was hoping, maybe, because he said he loved her.
Because he said he loved her.

Why does the other mind scream inside?
It yearns for another. It is crying for a friend.
The scream is one of loneliness.
Can such a mind ever contain contentment?
He’s peeling carrots, absent-minded, lost in thought. It slips and slices into his finger. A deep cut, blood in the basin, and smeared across the carrots too, which he washes and eats anyway. The bleeding doesn’t stop for a day. He had no idea vegetable peelers were so sharp.

…The creature strained towards the sun. Cords of muscle taut along its shoulders, neck arched back. Jagged grey rock stuck from the peak, and there on the highest outcropping the creature reared up, hooves kicking at that distant white disk…

This, this thing, it cuts me to the bone. Because it’s true, every thing he’s said.


paths diverge


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