You never forget and of course, how can anyone ever forget the times of their lives?
And of course, I agree, the times of our life have changed and altered from their original state.
But this is a normal thing.
This is a thing that comes with age.
Time moves and the glory days are more glorious and the memories become amplified like a fish that we caught as kids and somehow, the fish seems to get bigger each time we told the story.
My heart does this too.
It gets bigger, I mean.
And sometimes, my heart misremembers and oftentimes, my heart glorifies and amplifies the realities that took place, way back when.
And this is funny to me too because the world has ways of taking us in different directions and somehow, we come back to the same point and meet who we are supposed to meet.
Years pass.
Wait, no.
Decades.
And to me, “she” is still beautiful, and more, she is far more beautiful to me now because “she” is still that girl who gave me the feeling of a boyhood crush.
I swear . . .
. . .no one matches her.
No one knows, including her.
No one comes close to her because to me, there is only one “her,” and so from this moment on; i wait for her, patiently like a prisoner awaiting his pardon.
And am I a prisoner?
Well?
I am in many ways.
I am free and yet, I have been imprisoned for so long that I cannot understand the barless rooms or the endless plateaus of a great big sky. No, I am riding through an inestimable version of life, unprepared and yet; I am brave enough to dare this time.
I am brave enough to move like a hungry hunter who searches for his one and only meal.
I know this seems animalistic or perhaps this sounds aggressive or predatory.
but no.
I am just a man in love and no one else can pardon me from this. No one else will do and no one else can be a suitable match or substitute because to me; there is only one love, one girl, and one body that can make me think and feel the way I do.
You never forget things like this.
Even if we try.
No. I am sorry.
There is no forgetting the unforgettable.
I will never forget the good kids and the bad kids or the kids who I chose to break bread with and go wild through the neighborhood streets.
Although distant from me now and although many are gone or dead or elsewhere, i insist there is still that old familiar connection that dates back to a little crazy town in the so-called suburbs of my younger life.
No man admits to this, but I will
I have always wanted to be “in love’
I have always wanted that feeling to belong to someone
to be owned!
I am often caught between the teeth of nostalgia and yes, I am often split between the good and the bad, which is interesting to me now because even the bad memories come with a flood of good emotions.
All I can say is somehow, you and I survived ourselves and we survived the odds and to be more transparent, you and I lived through a time before technology was so prevalent.
There are no photographs or video evidence of what took place. Yet, there are memories that will live on forever.
There are laughs and cries, and there are spirits from the past that somehow come along and remind me how it was, “back then.”
There is proof enough to know that I was wild and that I was young once too.
I had the need to go and run and be and do.
I wanted to feel. I wanted to scream and let myself go.
I was equally as crazy as today’s youth.
I was as crazy as anyone, if not more so.
I was just as wild and needy and hungry. Or maybe I was more crazy.
Yes . . . maybe that could be the case.
Either way . . .
You never forget the kids from the neighborhood. You never forget the first time you ditched school or you found out that being bad feels really good.
I came from somewhere an I lived through my youth. I survived and endured and this is what brings me to here, right now.
You never forget the ups and downs and the cuts and bruises or the injuries from our youth.
I have scars.
Some you can see.
Some you can’t.
Either way, scars are scars and these are the details that took place at a time we call “long ago.”
I may never show all of this to anyone but I am willing to show all of me to someone; as in “that one,” which is “her.” to me
You never forget your firsts.
Never.
You never forget the things, like your first kiss or the first time you ever saw a body of interest, as in live and naked and raw in the flesh.
And dig it . . .
not everyone comes with a great background and not everyone comes from a clean history with no intrusions or hurtful memories.
Still, I know there is hope and I know there is pleasure beyond the pain.
I promise there is.
You never forget the interaction between you and your first sexual experience or the first time you felt something better than just someone’s attention.
Take for example, the first time you spent an afternoon with someone and felt how the different waves of romance can make sense of all the tragedies that happen when we face the loss or the absence of love.
I get it. I do.
I understand the value of weaving yourselves together with someone. I understand the orgasmic chaos and the crazy violations of young lust.
I understand the difference between a boyhood crush and what it feels like to be hit with lust or how amazing it is to know what love looks like when you see it at first sight.
I know . . .
I have seen all the above.
And I understand why people fear that perhaps they might never “add up,” or that in the end, I completely relate and understand why people fear that in the end, they will end up alone.
I have those fears too.
No one to comfort me
No one to warm my hands with theirs.
No love to return no matter how much I send out to the Universe . .
And no, you never forget the person who caught your attention and grabbed interest and somehow, something inside of you felt an amazing connection. Or in the moment when you see them, or her or him or whatever you fancy; you feel some kind of cosmic purpose, as if all the world around you led you to this person.
And this . . . this particular time and place was all designed just so you can stand across from someone during the sunset or meet with them in the month of August to make the summertime mean something. And of course, you never forget the scenery or the mutual reciprocity because everything came perfectly.
Everything fit, as if this was all intended and both fate and destiny designed this moment . . . just for you.
I do believe in the theft or the thievery of youth and the misperception of age or the fact that age degrades our youthfulness.
We can still be young
I know that I am older now. I know this but there are parts of me which are younger than ever before.
I know why people say youth is wasted on the young and so, now, I am choosing to add the colors of life which I missed when I was younger.
I can rebuild my youth.
And even if I can’t rebuild my youth, no one ca n stop me from trying.
No one can destroy me or my hopes
unless, I let them
I never had real love.
I never allowed myself to have a real sense of self.
And I never dared to enjoy and nurture my love or feel the beauty from a lover’s hand.
I never dared to hold someone so warmly and closely because while yes, I have had glimpses of goodness, I had too many fears that love is short-lived and that love will always be too fleeting to enjoy.
So, now?
Now it is different.
Now is the time for me to come out of hiding.
Now is the time for me to step out of my comfort zone.
Now is the time for me to “give it away to keep it,” so that when my love comes to me in full-circle, I can enjoy the mutual reciprocity which only comes in one beautiful form.
You never forget the first time you saw the object of your desire. And you never forget the smell or the scent of your lover’s skin. You never forget the taste of their kiss.
And you never forget the sound of their moans or the way their body reacts when you make love.
You never forget how they make you feel, which is amazing because when all things are right and when the time is perfect; I swear that I can bend steal, break the sound barrier, and even the speed of light can’t keep up with the rate of my heartbeat.
Not when “she” is with me.
No
Not when I see her.
Not when I touch her skin
Not when I feel myself about to burst in my pants because although I am crazy and maybe I might not understand much . . .
I can assure you that when she touches me; I know what beauty looks like.
I know what beauty feels like, sounds like, and smells like because no one else in the world can say what I am about to say. No one knows the most beautiful girl in the world . . .
Not like I do
And for now, I might not “have” her
but I have this . . .
. . . and that’s more than enough.
The Written Addiction 