the love life

The Last Life Love

In my last life I was an adventurer. Not just the kind where you go to the corner store or the gas station and buy some sort of exotic snack. The kind where someone has a task for you and you provide it in the thoroughest way you know how. God had a task for me to survive and I did. I lived in Africa. My job was to keep entertained and chase the savannahs until the sun woke up. Hunting for something other than food. Maybe love.

I found it somewhere West of what I was looking for. The west is always a more dangerous place than the east. Jungles. Lions. Even the west of where I live now has more crime. More murders. Wild factories made of grey workers and colored product.

When I saw what I was looking for, it was as if I had always known.
He was a strange substance of a man who was dressed in nothing. A substance that was almost murky with something different. He looked like a boy, a stranger still to the world. Hair was tangled and eyes were raw like fish. I ate them daily until water and salt were dripping from us.

Never consume yourself with too much water.

I had heard people warn me of the troubles with a life of ocean when feet can’t turn to fins. Why listen to the background noises of unpleasantness though? Water has no sturdyness and gurgles which ever way it feels. Being young and adventurous, I was pleased to be surviving in the west. I had made it there with a tough exterior to get me through anything. Quiet as a mouse and darting for life, I did not know why I was running. Everyday. Like a hamster on a wheel, getting nowhere.

When I met the boy, I was so thirsty I nearly blew away like a feather with the prospect of something to drink. I had run out of water days ago and thought my life was near to an end.

“I can offer you all the water in the world, but I shouldn’t give you a taste because once a drop hits, you will surely drown.” The boy told me in a serious voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I am near death. You are soaking with something I need.”

So the boy took me to his shelter away from the death of heat and starving mosquitos. He sat me down on the hard ground and fed me his water from a long straw. I was eager. Greedy. I drank until I thought my body would explode.
We talked of adventures that we had experienced, we talked of the ones we were going to experience. We talked of travels, food, love, stories, plans, and philosophy. The next morning when I woke however, the boy was gone.

All day I waited in his home. Captive by my own means and racing mind. Did I scare him away? Was he traveling onward? Was he ever coming back? I would wait just one more day.
Later on when the sun fell asleep, I felt the cool of someone with rambling desire. Water. He stood with his face to me and poured me another glass. Again we talked. For days and weeks and even months, this went on. I would wait just one more day. He would disappear in the afternoons, and I would dwindle. Every day feeling weaker with out the water, every night feeling just a little less replenished but still surviving. I would wait just one more day.

A year went by and I found myself trapped. I could not leave the home. The adventures seemed so far deep into the past that I looked and looked through my mind to remember what I had felt, but couldn’t seem to dig out what I was looking for. The only thing I could think of was thirst.

“I warned you when we met, that you would drown in my water and now I can see it is almost above your head.” The boy sat me down one night to talk.

“You are my water. That is the only thing I want.”

He shook his head as salt water became fountains leaping from our eyes. They merged into one and   we were struggling to find our own sight. Through the depth of liquid, it was hard to see straight when everything was blurry.

The boy sent me out of the shelter and I knew that he was right.

My heart ached and my bones turned to glass until all the shards were piercing inward.  They were so brittle I thought I would shatter entirely.  Thirsty and scared, where was my bounding leap of adventure that used to save me so often from the grips of boredom verses fear?

I strayed far away from the jungle. Finding myself in a village far away in another country I had become old, but strong. Bones were not glass and adventures were not always survival. One night, when the weather was hot, I opened the window and dislodged the screen, letting the creatures crawl in as the pleased. Life was a beautiful thing.

A small girl was dancing in the electric moon outside my porch. A boy followed her presence with stumbling feet.
Don’t get to thirsty. I thought to myself, but lifetimes only last forever.

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2 Responses to “the love life”

  1. Alethea Leventhal Says:

    This is one of my favorite things that I have ever read! Seriously. It is absolutely amazing. You are the most talented writer I know.

  2. staticity Says:

    Thank you Alethea! Are you in wordpress, I can’t click on your picture because it won’t take me to your site. I miss you!

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