See that's the problem with being so self-aware. I always know the exact moment (and sometimes prior) when I am making a mistake. And he was the greatest mistake of all.
He lived in a cloud, high up in the sky and far from here. A place where they played by different rules.
Or maybe there were no rules at all. A concept so removed from the guilty and controlled chaos of my own life.
He made me uncomfortable. But I think that the best ones always do. Always having said too much, or not enough. Always, always over-thinking.
He played the game so differently. Living fast, decisions made even faster. Avoiding consequences by never considering their possibility. Moving so quickly, so afraid to stay stagnant in case it all came crashing down.
But true stagnancy is our greatest impossibility. Sometimes in those quiet moments I would lay completely still, weight down by the concept of our ever changing world. Imagining the cells inside my own body dying and regenerating, as the seconds ticked by ad the seasons changed and people left and died and others took their place.
And even when you resist, the changes, they happen.
It was just a way to pass the time, a diversionary game. And then came the sex and the painting, the cigarettes and the old blues records. And then I was addicted to it all. Strung out on this person.
Not him. But the one I had become in this time and this place, emancipated from my own unnecessarily overcomplicated mind. Fucking my way to freedom.
But the change, it catches up and this encounter was ill fated from the start. The pieces were going to be moved around. Some forward and some back to the start. And we will begin again. Before the game is over.