J-1

An ol’ journal entry… the “J” series.

…I never was a fan of popularity.


2/11/12                                                          J-1

He grew accustom to girls dancing around him in their melodic gaggle, waddling, squawking. Their giggles like quickly plucked strings, shrieking gossip like the piercing shock of an over-played flute.

He mastered The Charming Disposition (#22) when wearing the Mask of Sincerity (#78), crooning with The Caring Voice of Concern (#53). He flashed the White Pearls of Charm (#66), easily folding, bending, squeezing young, fluttering hearts into his toy chest. He lingered over the box, humming along to the hopeful beating against the entrapment. Quickly, swaying hearts latched to their unlikely chance of being his, like a calf to his mother’s teat; savoring the sweet, nourishing nectar of self convincing delusion.

His sustenance and passions always within reach, he wanted for nothing, needed nothing.

The Night gathered her winds and teased the toy box open… finding new mischief to amuse herself with. He fell victim to curiosity, toppled over himself when he noticed her.

She was not like the hearts that resided in his toy chest… She possessed the wisdom of one who had seen many moons, yet she had walked no more steps than the symphonic giggling gaggle He surrounded himself with. She possessed something He never had before, something He could not identify.

Unfamiliar with her ways, The Boy displayed his Best Mask (#77), voiced his best rehearsed Concern (#53.2) with perfect pitch, flashed his Pearls (#60-69).

The Woman did not find validity to the Grande Presentation, but the persistent, Wicked Night Moon got her way. Curiosity took over for the unmatched pair.

The Night sighed a breath of relief. Of Release. Nearly erupting through the seams… long overdue.

He found himself in unfamiliar territory. He knew sex; he possessed a self-proclaimed crown in the matter. But this was strange…Her force, her commanding presence. She had a desire for more than pleasing him. She met him, surprised him, demanded things of him, challenged him. She showed him sensuality and self knowledge. His chest felt tight as she grabbed something intangible. The two took a breath and dived in.

It was awkward.

At times, painful.

Semi-pleasurable.

…..Beautiful.

He was unprepared, insecure, incompetent. Underwhelming. Vulnerable.

He was cold, uncovered. Naked. Exposed.

He held on to her as he glided into sleep. Trying to keep the moment, the feelings , the magic, the Ecstasy, the indescribable.

She slipped out of his grasp in the early rays. Long before waking hours, maybe moments after he drifted to sleep. She wouldn’t return. She wouldn’t say goodbye. She wouldn’t see him again.

He awoke, with tousled sheets and a slight imprint as the only remains of the night before. The only evidence of his journey the human portal to the divine. It was real. It was bigger than Him.

He softly caressed the lines where her body had lay

Laid?

…Lied?

“Lie”,  his mind echoed… he was without his mask and his eyes burned with arrival of pure, first morning light, untainted by the day’s abuse, unsaturated by his tinted lenses. Seeing everything for the first time, He realized: He was alone.

He always had been.

His toy box tumbled restlessly. The boy opened the lid, forgetting his Song of Concern. His Charm tarnished, his Mask cracked and frayed.

The young hearts surrounded him, but their once soothing melody was now a cacophony of superficiality. The hearts took turns soothing and comforting The Boy without effect. He lead them back into the toy chest and shut them in again. Clouds covered the golden morning light until the room appeared dull and colorless again. It was dark. The music stopped. The boy buried his head in his hands and cried.

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