Dating : 4 Days

Day 1

“The moon is staring at me. It knows me, understands me. It is floating in water, bobbing up and down, whispering “closer,” then it devours me.”

I woke up this morning feeling hypnotized. I felt like someone had switched my head and body with another set while I slept. A newer model. An update. The air didn’t smell quite the same, it had layers and complexities. Lilacs, rain, gasoline, wet asphalt, The sunlight seemed unusually soft and lively. The shadows bouncing on the walls were sharp and their movements were choreographed and deliberate. I closed my eyes, my head got quiet, but I heard the wind blowing over the Pacific, the sound of waves washing over the crumpled surface of my brain, again and again.

I felt alive, I felt brave. I felt like a younger version of myself, yearning for action, but equipped with more experience and wisdom.

I walked to the park early in the morning, I remember because the sun was just peeping over the sleeping city. When I got back, the moon was fighting the remaining sunlight of the day for a spot in the sky. My oxfords were wet from dew, and my tie was balled up in my coat pocket with blood soaking the tip. My heart started beating wildly as I ran through my day, my hands shook while I poured myself a glass of Whiskey. I took all my clothes off in the back yard after the alcohol offered some relief. The heap of clothes sat motionless on the ground, then they shook with vigor in a gust of wind, each article scattered over the clover lawn. I stood and watched, unblinking. My skin looked strangely pale, glistening under the moonlight. I paced up and down the winding marbled path in my Japanese garden, the stones under my feet felt like ice pellets, crunching eagerly under each step. I picked one up and put it in my pocket for good luck, as if luck had anything to do with it. I felt for the tie again, and was startled when my fingers discovered nothing. Then I remembered I had cut it up into pieces and buried them under the hydrangea blooming in the corner. Its rich blueness radiated against the white picket fence.

Mrs. Richards from across the street asked if I wanted to come over for dinner again with her and her daughter. Her voice barely audible over the white picket fence. I said no, she insisted that I do. She smelled like cake mix and tea tree oil. I stood naked and made some small talk, unabashed, knowing she wouldn’t remember a thing. I envied her spotless mind almost as much as I envied your infallible memory.

You smelled like the ocean the night you left, clean, calming, infinite yet contained. I lingered in your arms for a second too long and realized I had fucked up the best thing in my life. But it was too late. The scent of the sea left when you did, and I was left with the taste of your tears in my mouth. It was too late before it even happened.