From Afrika Burn 2010
When I get just one night with you (cocooned within the darkness, beneath the fierce night sky, a cold wind on our backs and shared warmth beneath our clothing), I feel cheated.
I have been given every freedom required for me to live visciously, passionately and spontaneously, but I have no freedom with you.
I have no freedom to tell you things that I want to say. I have no right to your ear, your conversations or your empathy. I have no right to whispered truths. Yet I heard your “wow”, brief sighs of respect, and now I want to talk; obliquely, but cautiously free, about it all.
I want to tell you that your touch, just beneath the shadow of my face, made me feel like I was the only person in the world. I want to tell you that you spoke to me; you, reflected in your silence, in your smile.
I want to tell you that I would welcome your words and your ideas; I want to hear about your life. I want to take back my shallow utterances, break down the walls of laughter and glee. I want to talk about the real and dirty and trivial and mindless and resolute. I want to laugh with you, and poke holes in our serious conversation.
You see, with each new moment, each brush of your breath on my lips, we buried ourselves into each other’s flesh. And now I want to know that we are nothing; not be told that we are nothing.
I listened with my heart to all the reasons, and felt my freedom forsake me. In the end all I said was “I’ll be your friend”; but in the end, I know that I will be just another thought, a brief memory.
You see, after just one night, there lies an abyss at my feet. The constrast is never as stark as when you experienced something, and find yourself with nothing. And I can say “no regrets” but never do I mean it less than after those hours that you spend with someone. A devotion to the other person, as you will never devote yourself to them again. With hours finite, you live just for the first kiss, the tingling in your stomach. As your time together waits upon its death bed, the moment you must walk away looms inside your mind. With its death, so dies a million philosophies never voiced, a million moments never shared, a million arguments never fought; despite how different we are, how wrong we may be.