Wednesday, September 2, 2015

A Second Chance at a Second Chance

Preceding: To Find the Words

What is it about a beautiful woman sleeping in your bed upstairs which turns the man downstairs into an insomniac?

Time has passed since the first battle with a page void of words. Present is a man with a head full of nonsense, a belly full of cashews and a mouth full of Scotch. But it's not quite the same man as when him and this blog first fought it out in the ring. No, no. These eyes have since seen a love far beyond that of the silver screen. These cheeks have endured the caring hands of a magnificent woman. These hands know the agony of touching another's for the last time. These hands know the tap of white and black keys in the unbearable calm of night. Who do these hands belong to? They belong to a man in love with one and lost, and infatuated with another not present. Fuck.

Like the act of a clairvoyant, the last venture into loneliness and finding the words to accompany it was a pretext for the four and a half years just passed. This man spoke of loneliness as if it were upon him, little did he know that it would be snatched away by unpredictable beauty shortly thereafter. He yearned but then he found. He came to terms with loneliness but very soon fell in love. He wrote the words and then she walked into a restaurant and into his life, almost as if the two acts went hand-in-hand. Coincidence? Or fate brought about by confessed-longing? Today, the building where they first kissed is in ruins, and she's walking out of his front door and out of his heart. He kisses her for what he knows will be the last. She cries because she knows the same.

He punches in these words in the hopes of a similar result as before. How much pain is needed to bring a man to pen a new revelation, a new pretext to foreshadow the second half of this decade? How much delirium is needed for him to actually believe that this foolish act will have any outcome? How many jiggers of it are needed for him to reach the height of hysteria? He wonders. Three? Six?

He's not done with love, although he should be. He's a fool. He was given a cheque for a million dollars and threw it away on account of rain. After such a loss, what could possibly be his source of hope at this point? It's not in a page filled with words, nor is it the bottom of a bottle. Is his heart not still and silent? From where could he possibly be instilled with warmth after such a chilling ordeal?

Well, what if this man believes that he has already been given another shot, another golden cheque as it were? Perhaps he believed it even before he endeavoured to rid this page of it's emptiness. What if by some miracle another chance at love fell right into his lap? Could this be his source of hope; of his faith in love? Unsure of the cheque's value but certain it's big, his sun rises and sets on this single thing. Here we find the focal point of his infatuation. If the key component of faith and hope in love are questions, then who is she? And could she really be as sublime as she seems?

Still aware that a sail-boat with no water inside of it is one not yet pushed to its pinnacle, her boat has certainly sailed. The only difference is that the puddles and slippery spots are enough for her - she no longer yearns for another because she has found him. Another man. The bank has closed indefinitely and this other man may never let it reopen again. Waiting a little but losing a lot; noble in action but crippled by indecision; this man, our man, the man in these words, with cheque in hand, let that ship sail. The fool.

As this man once again tries to find the words which found him love the first time, this time his cheque fades further into oblivion with each sun that sets. Once again, he yearns for someone, and once again, that makes him lonely - so perhaps this self-talk is not as much an exercise in prophecy like before, but instead a desperate plea for a second chance at that second chance.

*This is a repost from the 10th of August, 2015. I've schizophrenically posted and removed this post so many times. I've had enough. It's here to stay.

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