Yesteryear. 

I sat on the plane, half-leaning against the plastic wall and the unwelcoming arm rest, nursing a surprisingly strong Jack and Coke, and overlooking the views of the Bahamas heavily obstructed by the left plane wing, headed home. I closed my eyes as the familiar tingle returned to my lips and the tip of my nose; Jack Daniels was planting his numb kisses across my face and I hoped he’d soon wipe my brow with that same forgetful fog that makes those in despair, dream again… my eyes were getting heavy, but I couldn’t escape the weight that threatened to collapse my ribcage and triturate my heart. My search for physical comfort was near impossible, as my skin was also crisp, red and radiating heat from a long, reckless and rum-fueled day in the island sun.


I replayed the last few hours in my head. Again and again. The way he looked, the words we carelessly shouted at one another in the middle of the security checkpoint. The feeling of this person, MY person being completely unregonizable, the one who was meant to protect me and bring me happiness, was the source of my pain.

I shoved the overpriced airport headphones in my ear and dared the tiny earbuds to fold under the heavy bass and heartbreak I forced through them. I wanted to drown in the 808 and ride escapist melodic phrases far away from the here and now. I wanted to deafen the crack of his cellphone exploding onto the airport tile floor in a fit of exhaustion, rage and desperation.

I wanted to believe loving words exchanged under island stars to a soundscape of crashing waves and lungs filled with fresh, salty air.

…to be continued…

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