hugo vera /d2/wip

I never wondered how a raven was like a writing desk; I only ever knew that I was both. My feet don't touch the ground when I jump, I fly. My heart hardly ever hurts as it lands, strained and bleeding on warm summer pavement. My mother told me that I had glass for a heart and an index for a brain. It was always easily broken and each heartbreak was perfectly catalogued.

I disagree, as I often do with my mother.

We're not on speaking terms; I've yet to come out to her, but she suspects.

Her obsession with Christ doesn't allow for that. It's not my fault that I've always dipped my hands in both honey pots and come up fruitful, I'm just terrible at not having sex, like some 'sex-addicted-demon'. Her words, not mine. It isn't my fault that the stories I read come to life so beautifully in people. I don't think I was raised a romantic, I was born one.

Perhaps the stark cold of my mother's upbringing forced it upon me. Perhaps the barren walls of our small house is what offered the perfect film screen for the images in my head brought on by the stories I read. I remember when I constructed my first hollow bible. Christ on the outside, science fiction on the inside.

I remember the first time I felt someone else's lips on mine (second grade, underneath the slide on the school playground. I gave Robert a flower and as a thank-you, he gave me a kiss. Just a peck, we were only kids.) and I remember even better the last time as well. (Last night in the back booth of the bar on third and crownest, my hands up their shirt and their's down my pants. Not Robert, someone else.

There's always someone else, especially when it comes to Robert.

Romance is a dead subject, melting and receding since I was young. Every year I lost more and more of the wool over my eyes, blinding me to the facts of life. Every night, I hungrily read, trying to pull it back, the youth in me that knew that magic and love were just as well as himself.

I know better, I'm not as trusting now. I yield. I take a moment to decide now. Fucking is different, that's fair game. There are never any strings attached and if any form, I snip them, clean as you please, early in the morning before I slip out the door.