My Killer Wore a Black Dress (Intro)

Dehydration dwells inside a vessel. Two love-struck amidst an unforgiving sea. I always get salt, I always get salt. We sip to prolong death, the big question is will we die or will the world around us first?

I am a selfish bastard, but I would swill the sea for you. I give you oxygen; I take your salvation from others. I continue to take hoping that hoping when I return you are right where you left me. I am always scrutinizing your illusory last words, my wallet is just your letter sheltered in leather. When my actions are not short enough, you take your salvation into your own hands. The last sentence said, “I will no longer wait for death, sometimes living alone is better than dying together.” I never agreed, we were different in that way.

One time I woke up early, not particularly for any reason — I just felt like seeing her face. After Penn, I spent my last twenty on a rose. The door opened, she looked like a mess, and the only mess I wanted and knew I would ever want. I held my hand out and it was thrown back in my face. I guess she wanted the glass kind. Times were hard and her veins were gone. There wasn’t much blood left. All I wanted was to find it again — she didn’t. That night, two very different cries were heard from that little apartment in Greenwich Village.

“Darling, do you know what would make me the happiest boy in the entire world?”

Her eyes glow like an old gas lamp, “Tell me.”

“You have to promise me.”

She fearfully nodded, but I knew it was true. I proceeded.

“Pretend we’re in bed in that studio of ours. Ashes are falling from the sky. We have five seconds to live and we’re in each other’s arms. Kiss me; kiss me so that I’ll never forget. Kiss me so I’ll wait for you in the next. Then turn around, and don’t look back.”

“What?” Yasmin clamored, the lamps burnt out, frantic for fuel.

“We’re young; I believe you to be it for me, but I need you to live. In five years, I’ll walk down Sullivan upon first snowfall and I want to see you all alone. You were always loveliest standing all-alone in that black dress. Then I will know I am it for you.”

She had a tear in her eye, but abided. Our lips met, I went most the way. She stole one last glance, and with it a piece of me. Those lamps told me the truth that night. You see, the eyes, they never lie. Words are often wasted. We can say anything, but we always look where we want. I knew her promise was the real thing.

In a month, it will be five years. I live in Venice, California and have had my ticket east for three years now. I am not sure where she lives.

Sometimes I romanticize; I focus on certain aspects. I don’t give the whole story. But I always do in time enduring what I have hidden.