Adrift In A Sea Of Flesh
by D. Jordan
by D. Jordan
I’m looking for you again, and I’m not even sure if you’re real. I don’t think I ever met you, though you could be some friend or tertiary acquaintance. My one, true love. It has become almost cliché: True Love. We live in a world of flesh where sex and image are the number one sellers.
Fuck somebody, suck somebody, BE somebody. It makes me nostalgic. I miss the thrill of taking a lady out and wondering if I would get a kiss. I yearn to feel tension while reaching for a woman’s hand. Can you help me? I think I lost those feelings. I’m just looking for someone to give them back.
It’s my own fault, I think. I’m pretty sure I misplaced them sometime in college. Maybe I set it down to let another sorostitute into my room. I might have been too busy watching women flock to the men who treated them the worst. Perhaps I just got too busy learning the game and how easy it really was. I wish I knew; maybe I could go retrieve it. It’s somewhere in yesterday, though, and that is a damn hard place to get back to.
So I decided not to look for it. Instead I’m holding out on a one in a million chance that you’re out there. I don’t know you. I don’t know if your hair is black as onyx or as gold as a sunset. I don’t know if you will be tall or short, quiet or loud. I know you will have beautiful eyes. I know you will be beautiful in mine. I know you will make me stutter and tie my thoughts into knots. I know I will love you, if you exist.
D. Jordan is looking forward to hitting something on an athletic field. His favorite Sneakers are Dan Akroyd and Robert Redford. You get a coolness point non gratis if you get that without having to look it up.