Backwater Swirling

At odd times of the night I have been trying to locate the connections to the past. I’m used to finding myself in the same place, trying to see through the darkness around me, always standing in a different section of the stream, disconnected from the rest. Maybe part of me remains unsettled, in disbelief that fragments so widespread, sprinkled throughout my life amounted to nothing.

The secret is an ongoing time line since everything was never sewn together.

You can’t believe everything you read.

“I’m not disappearing like I did last time,” he reasoned, as if recognizing some of the asinine pattern, as he proceeded to sever all contact anyway.

Parts of conversation repeated like script. I started to finish his sentences, the blurbs of story triggered like mindless routine.

“My father is exceptionally good at figuring out carnival games. You know, the ones designed to-

“-fool your perception of gravity..”

Nicole and I spent nights together typing, when he thought I was alone.

“Wow, dude. He’s really…”
“I know.”

I tested how he took certain information, laid out in-between supposed points. He scooped it up and ran with it, incorporating it into his interactions with me. It wasn’t honest, but he had never played fair.

His first wife came home at one point and noticed the phone going off and the computer screen on. How he quoted her told me more than he intended to reveal.

“You’re writing Autumn again? I warned you this would happen!”

Warned, him. Like counseling. Like Glendan has a problem and it’s more than one season out of the year.

We looked into every one of his contacts. He met up with someone he had been talking to and proposed. That didn’t even bother me – his relationship with someone else he met online wasn’t the issue. It was about a different girl’s blog who only had one entry in an all-black journal, friends at bare-minimum, going on in a jaded fashion about how a man had devastated her completely.

He commented to her only public entry, though her passage was aged and isolated.

He said, he felt her pain.

And wanted to be there for her.

That is what bothered me. How he had told a complete stranger that.

That was the night I had to admit what I had seen over the course of ten years. The person I cared about was not…right. The images on my screen were not okay.

I went back and checked months after publishing this entry and that connection had been removed.

I started spilling these confessions after my friend Tobin encouraged me to “drain the poison”…

There must be more to it, though, because the nuclear barrels fill up and never tip over.

The image he proceeded to plaster over social networks for everyone to see had nothing to do with my concept of love, maturity or sanity. I had known this person for years and still hoped that they could function in my life as someone that I loved, like I love very few others who I refer to as my “soul mates”. But I would have thrown my life away for someone who was waiting for another girl to fill his sports jersey. The beauty is gone. The words just don’t have that ring. In comparison I know that we thought of things differently.

I always imagined that someone different would come along for him. I imagined him with someone who didn’t buy into his shit. I wanted his family raised under a doctrine that came before his libido… But his life is the continuous product of having put himself before everything else.

I lost someone long ago and I don’t think I’ve seen him since 1999.

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