Took your impersonal invitation, am going to the party. I start driving and five minutes in I seize the resting bottle on the empty passenger’s seat at my right, ready to take the first large sip off it. Got used to it, this routine, like a ritual one enters only to find amusement in where there is but doubt.
It’s a twenty minute drive and the clock crosses the boundary between this day and the next. That red sangria was halfway gone if not drained to further measure and I start to feel a slight numbness setting in, vertigo. How I enjoy that sensation, it’s lonely but it’s degradant and the rashness attached to this mood makes it tolerable for me. I get lost in own findings in said moments, when the floor attacks my eyes and mocks them, it twists, and there I am, reaching the door.
I might wail mutely at times because nothing tends to go right in here, but I know you are somewhere inside, certainly jubilant, that’s how you know how to be, cause you’re as good as it gets without me, and so I act oblivious. But somehow, you seem to be civil enough to reach out and show care, remembrance for who am not in your eyes, am me and you certainly understand all I can’t avoid but longing for in you. The reason I come every time, to gatherings not yours, with intents of reaching someone that should be you, but might end up being another whose vibe might be easy enough to make it easy to pinch your serenity. Do I reach you at all in any way when I pretend to care less than you surely know I do?
For in the end it usually ends the same, with me gawking your shadow, maybe your sober eyes that may find me amusing in such dusks, but why do they so easily forget what’s clearly recurrent? Could you care a little less than that only so I could lose all hope and part away from here and for good? Why do you stare for so long that it intrigues me yet not long enough to emulate clearness? I really don’t know, do you? But anyway, I’ll keep looking and perhaps one thoughtful evening I’ll find out what is it that you appear to offer me in each of these nights only to take it, as silently as you can, in the day that follows.