We both said we wouldn’t go there. Well, correction. We both said we wouldn’t go there again. That was the last time. The first time was messy. The second time was a mistake. And the third time? It was earth shattering. We’ve been taught this lesson too many times before, but with how our interactions work, it seems as though we have to study it again. Study it again, only to fail harder than we did the times before.
I wish it were a true statement that going there would do neither of us any good, but you and I create sparks when entangled within one another. We create scrapes of pleasure and injuries full of passion, and then at the end, when thoroughly black and blue, we’re reminded of our unshakeable misery together through a dull pain in our chests.
We are fire. Or something close to it. A fire that quickly magnifies to an unbearable heat where we both get severely burned. I think me more than you, because I can still feel the scar tissue and the third degree burns from last time. And instead of me retreating back to safety, I’m tempted to repeat the same maddening cycle all over again, after stating to Christ, Allah, and the Universe that I wouldn’t.
I think that’s what they call insanity.
And it is insanity, because we both know it’s a terrible idea. Such a terrible fucking idea. But that won’t stop me from going the distance, and it won’t stop you from leading me there. That won’t deter me from partaking in the unforgivable, and the emotional fuckery that’ll follow will not discourage you. It won’t stop me from doing more than just simply tasting the forbidden fruit. And you? You’ll inhale me, peel me, and then devour me, seeds and all. We’ll lick each others finger coated with guilt and desire. And yet again, I’ll become your secret as you will equally be mine.
Just like old times.
Then here’s the kicker. We’ll embark on the pretend game. We’ll convince each other we’ll work this time because well, we’re older, you can now communicate with understanding, and I can learn to be vulnerable with you. We’ll play house, sneak around to see each other, pretend things are better than ever, even though you have a her, and game changer, I now have a him. We’ll form lies, plan secret trips, almost get caught, and then like clockwork, we’ll argue.
Not a lovers quarrel, but more of a this is getting too difficult kind of fight. You’ll complain that I am not understanding or flexible, and I’ll retort with feeling like I am losing myself. You’ll blame me for your jealous actions when I tend to another, and I’ll breakdown, like Mariah Carey breakdown, because once again, I am in second place.
And just like that, without missing a beat, shame will eventually settle in on both ends. My conscious will rock my tranquility, and my bed will taunt you with his cologne. You’ll turn cold whenever we’re together, and I’ll know it’s because of her.
You see, this a dangerous fire mixed with insanity. I mean, this shit doesn’t sound good at all.
But temptation is a bitch, and lust is her best friend. And familiarity is comforting, and fuck it man, the flesh is weak.
So with that being said, let’s learn this lesson once and for all.
This is the last time, okay?1