Some nights, you’ll go to bed wondering if it’s all really worth it, because your rational brain has grown weary of indeterminacies and far-off futures. Other nights, you’ll fold your arms into your chest, wondering if that other person is doing the same thing, wondering if you both could replace the other with someone else. Whether things would be different. Whether they would be the same.
Most nights, you’ll have an aching feeling. It sits in your belly not quite sure how to manifest itself in the digital static between you and him. And you’ll forget about that feeling because it’s silly to wonder such things when you’re supposed to be in love.
And that’s because no one ever told you that love is like a radio signal broadcast through still, backcountry air. It vacillates in strength at times, sometimes that voice inside your head ringing clear and true, other times muddled as if held underwater.
So tonight you take a deep breath and wait for the feeling to pass. A hunger for another body. A longing for an understanding soul to untangle the insidious thoughts in your mind. That moment of reassurance to precipitate and crystallize on your tongue, ever so sweet and ever so soft.
This is the final part of a four-part series of pieces that I wrote sometime during this past year. As we move forth toward 2016, I find that some introspection and reflection serve as a useful exercise during the final days of 2015. Please find the other pieces in this series, Things written in 2015, on my profile page.