Monday 18 April 2011

Broken Balcony


In a world of sex and heartbreak there is little room left for the romantic. He knew this and there they sat, on the floor of a balcony – two young lovers – holding each other tight. Beneath them the world lived and breathed as they stared at the London skyline in the sweet, summer night. Sharing a cigarette, they didn’t need to say anything to each other; he just held her close. They felt totally comfortable together, even though the stone floor of the balcony was cold and hard. He wanted to protect her from the evils of the world and he wanted to make her feel safe in his arms. He knew he was far from perfect for her but was determined to be the best he could be. He would do everything and anything he could for her. She was his princess and he adored her deeply. They shared a connection that he had never felt anywhere else and nothing could top the way she made him feel. He wasn’t naive enough to believe that it would last forever, but that only made him cherish these moments of happiness even more.
He was all too aware that in his life he had frequently acted as a low-life son of a bitch. He needed something in him to change and she was making him want to be a better man. She, too, had not had the best of lives before they met and he wanted, desperately, to turn her future into a fairytale. Dark pasts had brought them together and now vices were rendered useless. They had each other. There was no longer a need, or desire, for that kind of short-sighted escapism that had previously driven their separate existences. They whispered sweet nothings into each others’ ears. They whispered dark secrets, too. They spoke of suicide. They both believed in the romance of a joint suicide and they talked of carrying it out in the Parisian cemetery of Père Lachaise. As individuals, suicide was not a new thought; they had fantasised about it often. Death was alluring. It was an ideal resolution to the pain they had both suffered. Finally they had found somebody to share it with. It could be their joint escape. A final solution. On too many occasions could they have both departed this world, alone, by their own hands. Now they had company. They could remain together forever.
Nothing in life lasted forever. He knew that. He never forgot that. He never expected anything to last that long. He appreciated every moment they shared and believed she was the greatest shot at true happiness he would ever have. He never thought he could feel this way about another person and so he wanted to make it last for as long as possible. It was when he was allowing the greatest single syllable word to grow upon his tongue that she gave birth to the darkest sentence that he would ever hear her say. “I am back with Jesse.” Jesse Seward. Jesse was her ex. Jesse was some kind of beatnik hipster from New York and Jesse was back in town. Jesse was a truer love. She never thought she’d see him again but Jesse was back and this time for good. It was a simple decision.
Jesse’s return destroyed him. There was nothing he could do about it except to accept his heartbroken fate. She could not be budged and he knew she’d be happier if he let her go. It would be the hardest thing he would ever have to do, but he would do it for her. He would’ve given her everything he could give but what he had was not enough for her. He would have to let her go. He was torn apart. The world had opened up and sucked out his soul. He was left feeling empty inside and failing to understand his life. He was now merely a beast. Hunger and lust never departed him. He was left to follow his animalistic urges and to ignore the consequences. He would eat and he would screw. He had forgotten how to do either. There wasn’t much left for him now but to sit alone and drink himself to death. He never wanted to leave his bed again. Empty cans and bottles littered his floor.
It was then that he remembered an old flame of his own – Marie – a petite brunette with a sexual desire that could never be extinguished. She was on the other side of the planet but he knew that she would soon be back. What he had shared with her wasn’t beautiful but at least it was the best he had ever experienced physically. He worshipped her body. She worshipped his. He fantasised about where she would be right now. He knew she was travelling across South America. He pictured her in Columbia, high on cocaine and in the arms of a tanned Latino lover, discovering her true self.
With his balcony door broken, he looked out at the world from a different window. Growing tired of his thoughts, he drained the dregs of the bottle of rot-gut wine in his hand and laid the, now empty, bottle beside him in the bed as he lay down. He leaned over, blew out the candle that cast a dim, flickering light in his room and closed his weary, tear-filled eyes. She would be coming back soon. He smiled and fell asleep.

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