Unsober Thoughts In Sober Times

By Will Schmidt

I’m feeling inspired, partly by a sunset and partly by Hunter Thompson. Extremely scattered, disjointed, lost, misguided, but by what? Possibly school, separation – perhaps the fear of the unknown (like death…). Emotions flutter like butterflies quick off the crack pipe. If heart ache is an affliction, I am afflicted. Cure = substance. Not typical substance, substance abuse? Possible. Possible not. Most probable would be tracing the source of my heart ache, and that leads down odd roads that Robert Frost might not opt to take.

Do I want to dig into my brain? Yes – then why can’t I? Something seems to be blocking my neural functions: turning my normal labyrinthine mind upside down. Attempts to clear the fog seem to produce only more fog. *Letters be my batteries, words be my flashlight; language be my guide*

Typically the root of my most mystifying moments contains mention of women. This particular woman lights me up. I don’t know what that means, I can’t seem to find words to describe my inner thoughts. On the surface is anger – anger that she now seems to ignore me. For two-3 months we flirted, flitted, and held hands like new lovers. But…night and day. Flipped switch from “on” to “off”. But I want the light switch to be flipped  “on”…I do not want to accept defeat, but how can one man stand against an entire army? Thoughts that plague me: did I do something? Did I not do something? Can I do anything now? How do I flip the switch back on? Flipping a switch on would take energy – is it worth the expenditure of energy to attempt a reversal? I don’t understand how somebody can just go cold overnight.

The next move? Part of me screams persistence, the other part whispers “let her go”. I am holding her hand as she hangs off the edge of a cliff, and I am actually thinking, “why not let her go?” I think it’s hard to let somebody go who inspires images in my mind:

She is sun to my world,
When the sun stops shining – what then?
Have you ever noticed the lackluster nature of the ocean when cloud usurps sun’s throne?
Beauty suffers-
Even on the most sublime landscapes,
 with an absent sun. 

Women have a way of twisting you up inside – taking the most sane, secure man and reducing him to rubble.

My thoughts are directed to a time when I met her downtown. I sat in the front seat of a car, she right behind me. As the car moved, so did her hands. Through my hair, on my shoulders, down to my chest. I felt an energy maybe – but maybe not. I felt her grip – but maybe not. I felt her love – but maybe not. Was this all one big lie? One big mistake on her part? To accept this is to accept that she is a cold, stone-hearted woman. Is she?- Do we really ever know anybody else? Do we really even ever know ourselves? Find me man who is master of his own self – I say it’s next to impossible. What might not be next to impossible is winning the girl – maybe not though. Maybe true winning is losing? Maybe true love is ________? After an hour of contemplation – I don’t know what true love is. I don’t know what I’ll do about this girl, but I’m going to do something.

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