Mike V Writes About Love

I spent a good portion of my weekend wondering what I was ever going to post on this. My first inkling was to be funny.
“Make ’em laugh,” I thought. “Or at least try.”
But then I decided to go to the Giants-Cowboys game and after that embarrassment was in no mood for laughs (or work of any sort for that matter) so I pulled this, an excerpt from something I wrote a very, very long time ago. Dig.

“A Brief Musing On The Effects Of Perceived Love”

It is the oft-referenced darkness before dawn. The blackest part of night when sight becomes blurred due to a harrowing cocktail of lack of sleep, early-morning fog and concealing 4 a.m. shadows. This is the line that is walked only when one dares, but with enough confidence to know that they will not fall to either side. They know you will see their face, but you will have no idea what they look like. They become a sharp-edged silhouette in the rising sun, the waning moon, reminiscent of silent-film villains… boney, hunched, frail, yet daunting and horrible. It is at this moment, along this line, that we pass crevasses created by adjoining buildings a bit faster. We stay close to the walls as to not be tossed into the revealing light. We clasp our hands tight around something, anything… a belt, a purse, a waist and — if you’re lucky — a lover.

It is the instant before your lips touch hers for the first time. You’ve already come down this darkened road that you have never traveled before. You don’t know the buildings around you. You don’t recognize the ground beneath your feet. You can’t run home. It is much further now than it has ever been.

But you are thrust from the wall and you can no longer clutch your belt or your purse or your waist. You are shoved into this new light that the minutes-old sun has splashed upon the still-sleeping world. You feel like you can already recount this instant over and over, in your mind you are already telling this story to others, in great detail, how you grabbed her by the waist, the arms, the cheek and pulled her back into the darkness for one more second. How the sun chased that darkness away and how you knew, if only for an instant, that that instant, though it would soon be gone, could last forever.

She would describe her every thought to you with the edges of her lips, pressed so slightly against yours. And then the sun would wash upon both of your feet, thighs, waists, chests, arms, hands, faces and it would sweep you away into a world that would actually exist.

As you walk away, swaying drunkenly across that formerly terrifying line, you look back, straight into the eyes of that which made you tremble most, that which you found paralyzingly sexy, and you would say to it:

“Fuck you. Fuck you, look at me now. Look at how I am ok.”

And into the sunrise, a Lover’s cowboy, you would walk, heel-to-toe, heel-to-toe, letting the worn leather on the bottoms of your boots spell it out for everyone to hear, “I’m ok. It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get me down, motherfuckers.”


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