Life Writing

The Squid Pt.4

I would like to call in sick, skip a lifetime of wearing that mask. Day in, day out. Some health issue I’m sure of it. But I’ve got no signal. The phone won’t ring. Oh, dear, flow of your soul.

The face she makes when I tell her I’m about the leave…that my heart is poison, but I still wish there was enough time on the clock that she could somehow taste it. I can swim. Have always been able to. I can hold my breath. For quite a while in fact. But I cannot live underwater.

I smile. She knows she’s the cause. She also knows it’s not entirely genuine. The tension is palpable. Pandering to my sanity, there’s a head on my shoulder now. One not my own. Now, an extra heartbeat pounding away on my flesh. I can almost bob my head to the beat. Played. I feel like living a lie would be easier in the long run. At this point, there’s no evidence to the contrary.

The taste of rum may be a stranger to me, but it’s not foreign. And it speaks my language. Screaming those inviting words from the bottom of a shot-glass.

But again, I am struck rigid by the realization that I cannot survive in her illuminating depth. Are we destined to be estranged? Acquaintances for a flash. Like lightning? I hope I can at least make a mark. The crook in the corner of her mouth when she attempts to lift my spirit says otherwise… it’s infectious. And I hate it. There’s just a lack of days left on the calendar.

She won’t be happy when I depart. The words have left her mouth. However, it’s undeniable that I’d be better off in this world of false sun, and hope, than her inhabitable one.

Regardless… I can feel her tentacles quivering in anticipation of my company. It’s been far too long, I’m a veteran of one too many wars to just run into the sea without any consideration of my mortality.

 

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