What was I thinking?
I’ve asked myself over and over again, what in the
world, in the
heavens, in the infinite emptiness of
space was I thinking? The sphinx-like question of
emotion versus
logic wasn’t even an issue; both emotionally and logically I knew it was a very bad idea to kiss
fervently,
passionately,
gratifyingly and
hungrily the very woman of my infatuation...’s
friend.
The woman of my purported infatuation unhinged
reality in my mind, she evoked an emotion that made me become au fait with heartrending
Romantics masochistically fixated with their
tragedies and
misery. I remember every word I ever spoke to her, I remember every smile and gesture she might have thrown in my direction. An
essence in time would become moot if I were in absence of her vast green eyes for even a fraction of a second. Scream madness, paranoia, lunacy, for the love of God she is the embodiment of
desire.
And her friend, oh, well, yeah… nice ass I suppose. I could
blame the alcohol, I could say it was fear of her
otherworldliness, I could impugn madness, but I will unlikely ever know what I was thinking that night. I will live with the heartbreaking question of whether or not I had actually seen the
hand of destiny come forth and deprive me of true beauty in all its glory, or I just did something that could be coupled with shooting myself in the foot a thousand times over, simply because I’m
thick.