The Lights

As I look towards the window, I suddenly face a building of changing lights. The lights transition from purple to red and back again into purple. There is no significance to the color of the lights but they caught my attention. And as my eyes began to look at the building, suddenly the lights from the train station shifted from being there to really being within my focus. I’m not sure why but the moment brought me back to the summer. Specifically towards the end, and I felt myself sharing a moment with the man who took away my desire to love freely again.

We both wanted something. I wanted his love and consistency. He wanted my youth, my recklessness, he wanted to taste me and then toss me. It wasn’t about leaving forever but about maintaining control of the situation by treating me like an indispensable object.

I remember standing by the ferry station and looking out towards the setting sun. “Did you know that the sky seems pink because of the pollution within the atmosphere?” I asked.

“This is my favorite time of the day, but I guess now it has a different meaning,” he replied.

I escaped from his grasp but my mind often goes back to that day. Why? Because I let him have me that day. My words meant nothing, my body was the only thing that counted.

A woman once gave me a ride to Hoboken. She warned me about men like the one I was skipping organic chemistry to see. He will leave you, have his fun and leave you. And he did.

He came back but it’s too late. I can’t trust him or myself. I let him have me, because I wanted him to stay. But he didn’t. Yet he came back begging to redeem the dilapidation. But he is not my knight. There is no real hero in this story. This is the 21st century; we were granted the anti-hero figure in the 20th century. Humanity is not perfect.

There is crispness in the air; I began to love even the smell of cigarette smoke because it brought me back to memories of you. Sitting in your patio, with the new york skyline in view, we sat, we talked, and we drank wine. I recall myself in heels, wearing too much make-up (what’s new?), and sitting on his lap as I drank my red wine.

I went far in one year. From my high school marine boy, to the pop punk boy in my class, to the man who had the world in his wallet, and finally towards independent serenity. I understand my worth. But the pretty lights take me back, to nights of obscure sinfulness and laughter. Glamor kills.


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