My 7th Christmas without you, I sat alone eating Samiges Rinder Gulasch mit hausgemachten Spatzle at a popular German pub affectionately known as Paulaner Brauhaus by the drunken masses. I know and I'm not even supposed to take any more beef or drink but then again I was never mama's girl.
The food was pretty good. I went for starved to stuffed. And then like I do each time, eating German food, I think about you. You are so beautiful, sitting right across me with a smile and an intense gaze. Walk me through, I'd love to find out what just went through your pretty head. Was it about me? Or food or beer that you don't drink much of? I miss you the most on the most mundane occasions, when I'm crossing the road or eating alone. I am pining. I shouldn't be anymore. And goosebumps would run down length of my back and sometimes, my heartbeat races with a single thought.
I could paint a picture of you with my eyes closed. Your old European features of an temptress knitting together when you growl your pleasurable approval in bed and yell my name, sticking your fingertips deeper into my skin and scalp...the intensity in which you come for me...and how much I could drink from you...sweetness akin to raw honey sting and coat my tongue and hidden cavities in my mouth with such viscocity I cannot be quenched any other way. You're smiling now, with a loud, childish giggle of a girl. I look at you so I could remember every last movement or word spoken. You scribble playfully on the post-it. You suddenly wish for flowers of various orange hues. I smile, and drew my chair outwards. "Flowers," I thought as my brain churned up several possibilities and I got it.
I came back with a bouquet in my hand. "Flowers of various hues, I present to you, love." I sat gently the bouquet in your eager arms. You laughed at my silliness and the wetness of my shirt and my ponytail that has come undone. "Come sit by my side and I shall reward you with a kiss." You said, affection mirrored in your blue eyes. I tried to lean in more as I taste bubblegum and strawberries on my lips and tongue.
The song I catch at a distance caught and tugged me back into reality. I am now sitting alone with a beer at room temperature and a burning light bulb. My heart writhes with tremendous pain as I stayed curled up in a corner. Admist the crowd and noises, I am invisible and protected fiercely by solitude. That is how I should be. Hmm, I smell sauerkraut, and pork knuckles.
A new proposal was presented to me by a kind friend who, by now I've realized does not appreciate much the art of wallowing in self-pity and loss. She thinks I should pick up drawing, starting with pencil sketches, preferrably realism because that's what I like too. If I could focus, she uses that word a lot, on learning how to draw, I could eventually pick up tattooing which by the way, is another thing that I fascinated by.
There are a million things I'd love to run with, say picking up the guitar, and learning a different language so I'd curse in it and photography and writing. I'd take up these courses right now if I hadn't suck so bad with managing my measely pay check. She will be proud and I could be a useful person, one who can say for sure that she has had enough of dwelling and lamenting that it's high time she lead a different life, and one that doesn't include unrealistic Greek crushes. I shall sleep on it when I wake in the morning.
And Merry Christmas, all.
No comments:
Post a Comment