Evenings

They never will be the same. I can continuously tell you that , yet you wouldn’t understand. Things were as simple as evenings, as keyboards, as ceiling fans, as heartaches, as makeshifts. Sometimes, it just doesn’t matter. It just doesn’t need to add up correctly, because sometimes the sum of it all isn’t what you expected.
And this is where all of the frail words commence an entire unity of self indulgence, personal interest and a cavity. Holes where the eyes should be seen, holes where your feelings are kept warm, where your heart is pumping those red blood cells. It’s all still there, nothing has changed, just a minor adjustment, as we all like to call it.
Even typing this, I am begging for more research to spill over me, reaching inside my head.  Because, once said before, if it’s been searched before and has been found, now it is only researching that is left. Just something that will tell me with a crisp voice everything that can remain. How does this relationship hold itself at night? Well, I don’t know, I just hold myself to sleep. That’s a distant opinion; distant meaning they do not radiate such emotions because it causes vulnerability.
And who the fuck needs that?
It all started with a message, welcoming me to a visit, a visit in which we both were late for. In a parking lot, filled with people who had chores that day, we found eachother. And in the sour end we lost eachother, too. But, ofcourse, it wasn’t until the enjoyment was sucked dry, and the captivator controlled our fair meetings. They were fun, and they had potential. Just like everything else in the thinning air, it’s not yet stale, but it will soon carry on.
I mentioned my interest in giraffes, he mentioned his Aunt’s ranch in a different city. I was imagining something spectaculor, something John Wayne would produce, and to my surprise, her acres of land sufficed my very thought. And, being young, the hundred pound cheeses, that the local food mart withheld from the public, distracted us from speaking any further.
“How can you eat this?” he said excitedly.
“Like this,” I picked up what I could and emulated a meal at dinner time in my house.
But ofcourse, I did not eat it. He laughed, and that’s when it must have started.
Or perhaps it began when a small bullet rolled on over toward my body as we laid by a fountain, to do what every kid at heart likes to do, and watched the stars spill over, entering our atmosphere, making kind gestures, becoming friends.
“Okay, so I now know that I am going to die, “ I smiled as my palm was home to the mysterious bullet.
“Oh, um. About that, you see I shoot guns” his voice seemed promising.
“I’m sure you do. Now, make sure to let me write my last will and testament before you just off me like an abortion” he accepted my plead. And just like that, a stranger runs past us making a grunting noise. It was a woman, and she was in her mid thirties, ponytail held together by an off brand hat, jogging pants that made that slosh noise. She was fit, in shape, but she just seemed so lost doing it.
“Did she try to scare us?” he was laughing and shaking. Fear and laughter go hand in hand.
“I dunno, but she did it with a smile.” I finished. And so did she finish, a few sloshes later she finished.
Slosh, slosh, slosh.