Ackerfors
Alas, your rapids!
- Joined
- 21 Jan 2001
- Messages
- 7,479
‘This could be the one’.
We were staring at each other in the bathroom one day when I first thought this. Drunk, as was to become the usual on a Saturday night, and trying to get away from people. We’d only been together for about a week, but I truly thought that this was it. We were perfect for each other. We were going to be together for a long time.
Ah adolescence, where it’s so easy to fall deeply in love by just a single flush of testosterone.
We spent every second of the day together. Everywhere I went you would come with me, and I loved the attention, couldn’t get enough of it. Honestly, to begin with anyway, I didn’t care about the clinginess. I didn’t want you to go away. I loved everything about you. I was infatuated. I would sniff your hair, inhaling deeply, the tantalising aromas. You made me feel so sensual.
I really don’t want to seem crass, but God, you sitting on my face, it was like heaven. Just having you on top of me, covering my face, the world seemed so simple. I wanted to give you pleasure because you gave me pleasure. Being smothered so thickly made it so nothing else mattered. We were practically as one.
You knew you weren’t my first but it didn’t bother you. Self-assured both in yourself and the constant adoration I gave to you. I suppose I grew complacent, thinking you’d always be there, because the problems started. The problems with you became the problems with us.
One example, people commented that you were too thin. No matter how much reassuring I tried it was always an issue. I know it affected our relationship. My work suffered too. Having you around made it easier to think, but upper management did not agree that you should have a right to accompany me on shifts, or tag along on house calls.
‘What reflects on you reflects on the company,’ they said. By this stage I was starting to agree that maybe spending less time together might be beneficial for our relationship, maybe even bring us closer. I should have realised then that this went against all physical laws, and could never happen.
You never took kindly to the suggestion that we should spend some time apart. It helped me discover the insecurities in our relationship. When you were conflicted you really let yourself go. You were almost always dirty, always limp. The sharpness, the character, the qualities that attracted me to you in the first place was gone. I knew it was bad for us to both stay together. Our restrictive embracing pushed each other closer as we spiralled into dross. I had to get rid of you, but I couldn’t.
I mean, I really couldn’t. Every time I tried, even thought about it, I resisted. I came to realise that I didn’t want to think about life without you, didn’t want to confront the world alone. I was using you as a crutch. You were a mask, a façade that I continued to maintain so that the world didn’t see my real face, didn’t see my true insecurities.
I couldn’t handle even the concept of being without you, however I never could bring myself to just tell you to leave, and it would never have worked. Deep in depression, on a Saturday night, drunk, I gained the courage to follow through with a decision. It’s difficult to explain now (not semantically, but emotionally), but at the time it seemed right. I sat on the edge of the bath, next to the sink. I pulled out the razor. Crying a little, I stroke it against my skin; over and over again. The sight of blood was only a little shocking to me, but I never strayed from the course.
I woke up in white sheets. My first thoughts, I distinctly remember, was not ‘where am I?’ but instead ‘where are you?’ It felt so strange to be waking up alone. I felt so naked now, so wasted, but I was glad to be alive. I realised the joy in life again. I vowed never to let it get so bad. The days passed and I got used to being without you. People commented that I looked so much healthier now. Though I still felt self-conscious, and a little pitiful, I continued to grow strong.
It had been a week since that night and I knew I would never see you again. I woke up that Sunday morning and the sun shining through my lace-white curtains brought me clichéd optimism that I’d thought I’d never experience again. I sprung out of bed like a child. After my shower I stood, dripping, in front of the bathroom mirror. My eyes sparkled. I stared at my face. I stroked my chin gently, feeling the returning stubble, thicker, darker and harder than before. From one ear to the other it stretched. And though it was sparse, short and vulnerable, the wetness of my face made it glisten under the lights. And I stared at that stubble, and foolishly thought again, yes, this time, this beard could be the one.’
---
Taget härifrån, vet inte var det kommer ifrån ursprungligen.
We were staring at each other in the bathroom one day when I first thought this. Drunk, as was to become the usual on a Saturday night, and trying to get away from people. We’d only been together for about a week, but I truly thought that this was it. We were perfect for each other. We were going to be together for a long time.
Ah adolescence, where it’s so easy to fall deeply in love by just a single flush of testosterone.
We spent every second of the day together. Everywhere I went you would come with me, and I loved the attention, couldn’t get enough of it. Honestly, to begin with anyway, I didn’t care about the clinginess. I didn’t want you to go away. I loved everything about you. I was infatuated. I would sniff your hair, inhaling deeply, the tantalising aromas. You made me feel so sensual.
I really don’t want to seem crass, but God, you sitting on my face, it was like heaven. Just having you on top of me, covering my face, the world seemed so simple. I wanted to give you pleasure because you gave me pleasure. Being smothered so thickly made it so nothing else mattered. We were practically as one.
You knew you weren’t my first but it didn’t bother you. Self-assured both in yourself and the constant adoration I gave to you. I suppose I grew complacent, thinking you’d always be there, because the problems started. The problems with you became the problems with us.
One example, people commented that you were too thin. No matter how much reassuring I tried it was always an issue. I know it affected our relationship. My work suffered too. Having you around made it easier to think, but upper management did not agree that you should have a right to accompany me on shifts, or tag along on house calls.
‘What reflects on you reflects on the company,’ they said. By this stage I was starting to agree that maybe spending less time together might be beneficial for our relationship, maybe even bring us closer. I should have realised then that this went against all physical laws, and could never happen.
You never took kindly to the suggestion that we should spend some time apart. It helped me discover the insecurities in our relationship. When you were conflicted you really let yourself go. You were almost always dirty, always limp. The sharpness, the character, the qualities that attracted me to you in the first place was gone. I knew it was bad for us to both stay together. Our restrictive embracing pushed each other closer as we spiralled into dross. I had to get rid of you, but I couldn’t.
I mean, I really couldn’t. Every time I tried, even thought about it, I resisted. I came to realise that I didn’t want to think about life without you, didn’t want to confront the world alone. I was using you as a crutch. You were a mask, a façade that I continued to maintain so that the world didn’t see my real face, didn’t see my true insecurities.
I couldn’t handle even the concept of being without you, however I never could bring myself to just tell you to leave, and it would never have worked. Deep in depression, on a Saturday night, drunk, I gained the courage to follow through with a decision. It’s difficult to explain now (not semantically, but emotionally), but at the time it seemed right. I sat on the edge of the bath, next to the sink. I pulled out the razor. Crying a little, I stroke it against my skin; over and over again. The sight of blood was only a little shocking to me, but I never strayed from the course.
I woke up in white sheets. My first thoughts, I distinctly remember, was not ‘where am I?’ but instead ‘where are you?’ It felt so strange to be waking up alone. I felt so naked now, so wasted, but I was glad to be alive. I realised the joy in life again. I vowed never to let it get so bad. The days passed and I got used to being without you. People commented that I looked so much healthier now. Though I still felt self-conscious, and a little pitiful, I continued to grow strong.
It had been a week since that night and I knew I would never see you again. I woke up that Sunday morning and the sun shining through my lace-white curtains brought me clichéd optimism that I’d thought I’d never experience again. I sprung out of bed like a child. After my shower I stood, dripping, in front of the bathroom mirror. My eyes sparkled. I stared at my face. I stroked my chin gently, feeling the returning stubble, thicker, darker and harder than before. From one ear to the other it stretched. And though it was sparse, short and vulnerable, the wetness of my face made it glisten under the lights. And I stared at that stubble, and foolishly thought again, yes, this time, this beard could be the one.’
---
Taget härifrån, vet inte var det kommer ifrån ursprungligen.
