Delusions

 "Can't I be just a little delusional?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Beautiful Dreamer🥀🎕⁕⚘

You are the last person I want to be speaking to right now. The last, but necessity brings me to your doors yet again. 

You are a motorbike rider, the road is quite dusty. At the interphase between the tarmac road and the rough one, you wait. You know you are not wearing a helmet, the previous night's events have been haunting you and you want the thrill of the  bike to take your mind off it. The skies have not opened in over a month and the people are getting worried. The dust is dusting, the sun is sunning,🌞 and you, YOU are your cherry old self. Ready to damn it all to hell. 

It starts with the low roaring  of the engine, the machine's under load play a range of frequencies, but it's root note- the pitch its musical chord its built on, you know, is defined by the dominant frequency. You think about this as you press the accelerator with your foot, and you start moving. A plume of particles rise around the front and back tyres, and off you go. You really wanted to enjoy it. And for a small fraction of a second you do, but the disgust comes as fast as the thrill did, and you watch the reaction of the passers-by nonchalantly. They watch you in horror, with the destruction you have wrought them trailing you, and they think of how bad of a job your mother did to raise you, but you don't care, do you? You move on swiftly, angry that your thrill has been short-lived by the stupid bumps that were put to curb behaviour such as yours. 

I heard there was a secret code, that both you and him had, but it also broke down right? Like the machine you ride occasionally does. And sometimes you wonder whether it mirrors your life. The great analogy. He told you how he could show you some great romance. And you, giddy, believed him. On that weekend you were so bored and he was just the distraction you needed. He had been out drinking, for the second day in a row, and he was feeling super righteous about it. You told him how you liked the smell of alcohol on him when he kissed you, you said it drove you mad, it was intoxicating and made you excited; and at first he didn't understand; his thoughts were incoherent. When he pieced it together after clarification, he smiled, and it was like all the worries in your soul were quelled. 

You have this uncanny ability to listen, that I can attest to; but you are averse to applying the counsel you are given. You are your family's child anyway. I cannot blame you entirely. Gotta have your father's eyes, and his straight- looking face. You copied most of his mannerisms. You and him were a thing, never separated, always having the same opinion. Your eyes are a darker blue, and you like them like that. Perhaps your brain came from your mother; gods rest her soul. She wasn't really a bright lassie, maybe that is why you think like a butt-head. Ooh and your sister, always delusional, always wondering when her night in shining armour will come save her from her miserable life. 

You see why I do not blame you? Your father, whom you religiously call "daddy" doesn't know that you know about his two other women(aside from your mother obvi) and you wonder if it is the same person you know. He calls one "dearest" and the other "my heart" (you laugh at this😂) You ask yourself whether he really has the guts to do it, and since you have the proof, you believe. Again. Mommy on the other hand, is also a lost cause; she is always thinking of her lost love, the one who got away, the one who loved her immensely, the one whom granny had said she could never marry, the one before daddy, and she too is lost in that delusion. The only person who can bring her back is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps in the next life. 

You are delusional, and neither of us has a monopoly on delusions. So why can't you be allowed to be delusional? Why can't they understand that it is YOUR delusion and not theirs? You remember him again...You will forget him, just like the countless before him, but you want to hold on to the good for as long as you can. You just want to be delusional.🕺 Maybe he was special, but as I told you in the morning, everything is subjective. 

Wanting him to remain special in your mind is futile, you and I both know what will happen. You will of course remember his curious eyes, and how you thought they looked at you, the smell of his skin from when he came from clubbing, and the way his lips parted when he wanted to taste your skin. You will remember his left pierced earlobe, and the single silver earing caressing his skin. And his brown hands, those hands that explored your body with your help, his long fingers, with short nails, and all the places you felt that tingling sensation when he touched you... At least he left you with that, now that he's gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.  Memories don't lie Little One, they don't. 

Straight face on! Nothing to chance. An empty bottle of hooch! Getting drunk soon. Lips burning! Memories fading. An early Siroter! Throat Burning. Mommy's gone! Whom will you cry to? Daddy is a Douche-Bag! Damn him too. 🍷 Seems like you are irrational, but they don't know what you have gone through. It's why you tell them stories, perhaps they'll make sense of it all. Perhaps.

You will pick your dignity off the floor where he left it, dust it (like the cloud of dust you left behind) and wear it back on with PRIDE. So if you want to be delusional, be delusional, aren't we all a little besmirched?  

As will always be a pleasure,

A.S.