Broken Will

A short story about loving someone from afar.

 

Broken Will

            My will crumbles when you’re around. The coldness and numbness disappears and once more I feel your warmth; like the one I used to carry around when I was young, before I discovered the wonders of whiskey and rum. Your green eyes are full of light and so brighten my days; this is a bit bothersome for I’m hung-over. I know you’re far from me and getting further away each day, but I don’t need more than the sight of your face to sober up a little. I don’t want to hold you close, for you are too delicate, me, I’m rather clumsy. I don’t need to feel your lips upon mine, nor do I see them closing in on me anytime soon. I am like the proverbial fly on the wall. I am much better at observing, most people hate to be lonely; I see beauty in it. I don’t mind drinking alone. I don’t mind the quiet; it’s the useless chatter that bothers me most.

            But lately, I’ve been feeling the burden of the distance I keep from you and the bottle. The one thing that keeps growing is my curiosity and I wonder how it feels to hold you. How is the texture of your golden skin, your pouty lips, and your skillful tongue? How would I handle the curves of your hips, and the grandeur of your breast?  I haven’t drunk in weeks now. I’m enjoying my company I must say; the thoughts of Bukowsy on Women. Sobriety has helped me get along and even allowed me to write a couple of songs.  

            I stay away from the bars and from your smile, your eyes, and your body. I stay away from all the light that remains in this dead end town. Yet, something about your laughter is calling me closer to you; something about your soul resonates in mine. I feel a connection I’ve never felt before.  I can feel my will is getting weaker as time goes on.  Months have gone by and I still don’t know your name. I fear I lost control of my hands. Now I am consumed by a fire, running around trying to put it out with a bottle of vodka. Watching you live in the distance doesn’t seem to be enough anymore. Soon I may want to approach you, even talk to you.

            I must steady myself, for I cannot fall.  For I know I am not capable of fabricating joy. All I do is cause distress. I have hands that hurt everything they touch, cursed like Midas. I cannot love anything that doesn’t come in a bottle. My words are like doubled edge swords, they cut deep and precisely on both ends. All I cause is pain and tears and bitterness, like birth. If I really care for you I must walk away. Besides, you seem to have found another and he seems rather sharp, a bad drinker too. The tie and suit type, with the slim features and heavy wallet. Young like you too. The only thing I got on him is years and experience, but mostly years.

            So I close my eyes and fists tightly as I leave your favorite bar, knowing I will never feel your warmth again. The moon doesn’t show emotion and neither do the stars as they fade behind the clouded sky. I leave your side; sort of speak, because my will crumbles when you’re around. My skin feels burnt and my lips are wet, my soul feels colder and my heart is aching, but I am at ease.

             This time I am not alone, I got my friend Jack Daniels with me. I’m going to pour his essence down the drain of my kitchen sink.  More importantly I spared you from the pain and anguish I carry about.  Who knows, maybe someday I’ll feel like I deserve you and your beauty. But, for now I must finish my scuffle with this bottle. Hmm, looks like Jack won this round, now is time for another.

Author's Note

Still not completely satisfied with it all, would love any input.