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06 April 2009 @ 10:39 pm
A Wrenching Sensation  
I hate posting this sort of thing, since it always feels pretentious, no matter how honest I'm trying to be. At the same time, I need to communicate this feeling and see if some of you recognize it. After my recent terrifying situation, it feels strange it be aware of this emotion again, even if it stems from long before my unfortunate trip into the Twilight Zone. *shrugs*

I beg your patience. Tell me your story, too.

I want to know if you've ever met this sort of person-- I want to know if this wrenching behind your ribs is at all familiar. People say they feel things with their heart, but I sometimes wonder if that's completely true. The heart, that shape like the wings of a bird on the downbeat; isn't that still too adorned, too removed? Shouldn't there be something before the heart, some eldritch place of origin? The heart has its own intellect, a sort of warped glass-wire logic, and my concerns are too visceral for that. This feeling is marrow and sinew, the yellow oozing of fat under the skin; the clutching behind the heart.

Have you met this sort of person? Like a knife through water, like hail on a fine summer lake. They're not even that important; incidental, they emerge slowly, like some strange pattern in hallway paint. By then, it's too late. You can't unsee them, after all, and that perfect hidden geometry begins to feel like conspiracy. There are no thunderbolts or pheromones, no stars flowers. You know them in passing, and they do not loom large in the fabric of your life. You say 'I like' and behave in the friendly manner, though you never let yourself use the the word 'friend'. You talk, interact, have fun, but all the time something hangs over every exchange, tense and filmy, heavy and insubstantial all at once. You can't even give it the grace of a dance, because it's all about that panicked fluttering, and finding a place to put your feet. No rhythm at all. There are days when it seems like it must just be you, then there are some when you're each so attuned to the other's presence that you know it can't just be you.
But why? You can never say anything. If you toy with the idea at all, it's like an unloaded gun; inert but threatening, and you know you never will.

It's not sexual-- though there is, at times, that arsonist flicker in the cradle of your hips. Maybe you hate this person a little... definitely you hate this person a little... for being so extraordinary and yet so mundane. A kind word feels like it might break you, your dependence smells like bile. Beautiful and meaningless, all some terrible joke.
Do you know someone like this?
It would make me feel better if you do.



* * *


I love words, but some times I hate them-- I can't make this feel real, not overly dramatic.
-Meredith
 
 
Emotional Temperature: cynicalcynical
The Band Plays:: "Wake Up Call"-- by Maroon 5
 
 
 
wickedwonder1: marriedwickedwonder1 on April 7th, 2009 02:49 am (UTC)
I love the imagery in this.
You can't even give it the grace of a dance, because it's all about that panicked fluttering, and finding a place to put your feet. No rhythm at all. There are days when it seems like it must just be you, then there are some when you're each so attuned to the other's presence that you know it can't just be you.
I sometimes feel like we're waiting for the right place, which is stupid- we've been alone, away from everyone, wasted, all of the things that usually lead to something- but no, and I'm both relieved and saddened.
Ivy Loreivylore on April 7th, 2009 03:02 am (UTC)
I think that's beautiful. I know that type of person. I've just never been able to describe them so richly.
madisonpassionmadisonpassion on April 11th, 2009 05:54 pm (UTC)
You don't know me but I was just cruising for fanfic...


...and found this instead.

I had known him for years. I hung out with him because it was safe; I wasn't single, and I've just never had a lot of girl friends. Sometimes we'd end up hanging out alone together and I wasn't worried about anything going wrong. He was supposed to be safe.

Then one day when a whole group of us were heading to the mall or something, he was sitting in the back, singing along to the radio. And I realized I could feel his voice in my body, even when he was singing too low for me to really hear him over the radio.

I could tell you the rest of the story, but you wrote it beautifully. I was compelled to respond, because I know exactly what you mean, and because I love words too.