“Forbidden” – Chris Pardal

Why do I insist upon looking down the same dark alley for my muse…

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Do we really all do that?

I stand alone, surrounded by couples, with too much fucking love in myself to hold in everyday, so it explodes into tears at night…

The tears rain whenever actually, and usually under the guise of being emotionally influenced by a love song or some sad movie…

I stood in the freezing cold making idle conversation just to extend the time that she was near me. I wanted to go inside, and I imagined hiding in her arms, as we would warm each other while listening to the wind blow fiercely outside…

But I am outside. With the wind. With her…

When this conversation ends, I won’t see her for awhile.

The worst thing about our kiss is that it is not imagined, it happens, but it is the worst kind of death because it means nothing…

Familiar… The was the first thought I had when I saw her for the first time in this life…

That makes me realize that from the time we’re born, until we die, that things that are more and more familiar, happen less and less, yet more intense.

Familiarity is the womb, comfort, destiny, another soul-mate to make the right path recognizable…

Even if we could. I can’t.

A muse is to inspire me, yet I could never main-line the pleasure of her energy through my veins like heroin.

I love to feel this pain to know that I’m alive. I pity those who only feel its absence.

For her face, my eyes taste like cookies in a cookie jar, not allowed to have, but sneak without letting her catch me staring at her.

The cold nights… The secret rendezvous between our energy, as we meet, and act as though it doesn’t exist… Me desperately trying not to stare…

Will end…

The kisses will end…

And so the show will be over.

I only want her to know that she inspires me.

– ©2017 Chris Pardal

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