Love Lost

Tonight isn't a poem, nor is it a short story. I think it falls more under the catagory of "Essay." I am labelling it as a poem because that was more the intent than the other two.

From the untouchable shell of my body to the churning, confused gut, an unexpected, brave grasp on the hand starts a strained heart thudding rapidly and powerfully in a full-barrel chest, a hurting soul starts in perplexion - pulls away.
A mind, remembering, longs for that caring, soft hand in mine, knowing full well the pain that always comes in the end - not caring, not looking to the future, only craving the moments with that special other.
A hole in the middle of the body, often experiencing the happiness of being close, always knowing the explosive pain that always makes it a little deeper, a little harder to fill.
A short, sharp breath pulls the adrenaline into the blood, hsapens the pleasure senses in the body to more appreciate a warm hug that fills the mind with intense, white joy at the affection of another.
Dilated eyes drink in the beauty of the face, the curves of the body, knowing, remember intimate touches in times past, always knowing, always wishing that the emptiness, the lonelyness will be banished forever, never to lay its cold, callous fingers on my hurt, broken heart.
Too soon does the first intense love fade into pain and confusion at her withdrawl, not understanding why it's happening, what I did to cause this sudden freezing of her love, not wanting, dreading that void that will come again, doing everything to stop it from coming again.
The cold pressure of the steel tube ont he temple, the weight in the palm, the tenseness of the trigger - a sudden deafenign explosion, a flash of blinding light, a sudden unbearable pain, then nothing - no hurting ever again. Oh, the bliss of etenity - no cold uncaring people to spurn me, only a cool, soothing darkness that never ends.


I don't actually remember what situation I was thinking of when I wrote this, though I can guess. I do remember writing particular passages, which I think is a bit strange.
I am guessing that I was writing about Christy (the commentary on the poem Pride talks about her). The other possibility is Crystal. I remember writing the last paragraph and feeling a kind of release, a chill running up my spine and my face flushing. I guess it was my way of making sure I wouldn't actually do it. Not that I think I would have done so had I not written it - I just can't find any other way to describe that feeling.

The interesting thing about this piece is that even though I wrote it when I was 16(?), it does a fairly accurate description of the four major relationships I have been in during my adult years. As I was typing it in and got to the passage "Too soon does the first intense love fade into pain and confusion at her withdrawl, not understanding why it's happening, what I did to cause this sudden freezing of her love, not wanting, dreading that void that will come again" I felt the same way I have during each of my breakups - a sense of falling and spinning. Interesting that this random piece of witing from 17 years ago would still ring true...