Love Is a Brawler

It was Thanksgiving and I borrowed an old country CD from my sister. I sat around quietly listening and drinking a little wine. When the flood gates opened. Emotions long dead washing over me as I'm waiting for "her" to shower. The music brought "them" back, dead but ressurrected loves. Back from the grave just to hurt me, Zombies nawing at my heart and mind. In essence "they" were all the same. Claiming to be that one thing I want most, true love. Yet they are all fakes, disguised, wearing masks playing their roles with oscar worthy performances. Just as simply as my memories were jogged I was crying. I embraced it, I had a good short cry. It suprised me, I thought I couldnt. I thought myself, my soul, so heavy, worn and dry. I had nothing left.

I stopped before she finished showering. As my tears dried I realized I was happy. Truly happy, lighthearted even jolly. Yes jolly, not  HO-HO-HO jolly but a joy to the world style were nothing matters. Where your soul seems almost weightless. I felt wiped clean, the lightest I've been in years. I drink a little more.... ok ALOT more. I finished the gallon bottle as she finished dressing and her make-up. I had a couple tequilas and we were off to our usual bar. I had spent half the night lamenting old wrongs people committed upon me. Now the weight was gon, nothing could touch me. I walk in almost gliding, like I own the place. Weightless, atleast for now... I make new friends and meet a couple old ones. Brandon the mormon, turned rockstar, turned marine. Once upon a time, he was a very close friend now just an old friend. I hope he makes it through the war. Then there was Shandy. This girl has it all, the world on a silver platter. Yet she still manages to be nice to a loser like me. I never understood it, maybe it's just pity.I stick around for three or four beers but it's too much. I'm to far gone. My charm runs thin and my motorskills breakdown and stall. I notice a commotion a couple spots down the bar. An average cookie cutter military guy is beating on a long haired kid. Myself nor the people in the vacinity have any idea what started the fray. Guess it really doesn't matter. All we know is a jarhead is pounding the shit out of a hippie in our crowded bar. We take this as a sign the good times are over. We leave and I have a ton of trouble walking out. My feet and my head have seperate ideas of wich way to go.

I'm mean and crude. I get even more sexual than usual. I say plenty of things, some repeatable, others that will never see the light of day and I soon hope to forget. All the while the damn fight keeps replaying in my head. Five straight punches and he never fought back! Why not? He just turned his face from the brunt of the punishment. I just couldn't wrap my mind around this. We head to bed and strip on our designated sides. I'm too drunk to screw. I'm too drunk it's no use yet we try and try, finaly we opt to just sleep it off. The room spins and I start to float into the beautiful darkness of my mind when it hits me: I am him! I never ran from a fist fight but love has a mean left hook. Love is a brawler and my heart the hippie. Too many beatings and breaks and love no longer seems worth the hassle. I start to lose sight and then lose the feeling in my body but the weight  is slowly creeping back in. I yearn to be that kid. I wish I could trade my everlong broken heart for his black eyes... The weight is back in full and now I know I'll always be alone... Then it's gone, the world is just a game in my head floating in an inky black sea of booze and despair.  There are no winners.