Keep Art Alive :: “Circumvent” :: Art by Sarah Joncas

“There is no pain,
you are receding
a distant ship smoke on the horizon –
You are only coming through in waves.”

Thirty-three pages in to the story of a boy dressed up like a man, borrowed suit with a tie he can’t seem to straighten. He rakes his hands through too much hair, trying (and failing) to name it with drugstore pomade, the kind his grandfather used. I love his hair, though, sans the sticky mess of industry and expectation. She thinks it soft, safe, lovely. His hands are soft, too. Artist’s hands, though he washed all the colorful droplets of paint from them before leaving.

She wears some of his color still, fingerprints on her secret skin, a temporary souvenir of what only they know. She hates the word affair. It sounds as formal and lifeless as advertising and offices and marriage. They are more than that. Tearing clothing off each other, drawing blood as they sink their teeth into each other’s flesh, their bodies slamming, battering one another with (finally) feeling. He dresses silently afterwards, never turning his gaze to her naked form, lying there shaking as the aftershocks try to subside.

He loves her. He loathes her. He knows he cannot stay.

The world is not meant for blood-lust and passion, for shuddering confessions, fucking for hours until sunrise, until you collapse into sleep. It’s not mean for ink-stains, midnight movies and turned up loud music, not for the sheer delight of biblical sin, or for any of these god-damn feelings at all. He knows it, memorizes it, sews it into each lapel. This life – it’s all about denial and closure, creative briefs and deadlines, the echoing sounds of settling, and learning how to be so comfortably numb.

Comfortably Numb :: Pink Floyd

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