It’s hard to explain sometimes, how life is a constant battle. It’s hard to explain how you may be there and you may be engaged, but your mind is fighting another war, one farther away and more present than any fight here. And when you break into the mode of fighting and killing, that it isn’t really you.
But it’s always been this way. Once long ago, I was the youngest of four kids. I learned, more than anything, how to fight. I can’t lie for shit, I can’t negotiate, I can’t turn myself into anything but me. All I can do is fight. It’s all I know.
Some days, I try to fight back against the blood clawed aggression I have in me. I win that skirmish most days, but when I am weakened against it or when the fight is turned by circumstance, I lose the battle again.
When I see a fray, I want to be cast into it. When I see a war, I want to enlist. When there is no war, I want to make my own.
For now, my wars are all gone. I can only pretend at humanity until the next one comes along. If you ever want to find me, look in the wrong crowd. Find the guy who looks about to break.
And when I finally meet my match, I will thank God. Probably because it would be him. I can’t imagine too much else taking me down.
I can see her cry in the arms of her friend, but she doesn’t know it. I came back in to flirt with the bartender a little and peddle a smile and a nice word for a little interaction. She can hide crying like no other. She has always had that ability, short of extreme circumstance and unyielding unction. She knows I found a fight. She knows I found a fight deadly enough to keep me occupied until the darkness fades from me forever.
It’s not for sure, but it’s getting more likely everyday. I always tell people not to get attached and somewhere in my deepest recess of soul, I heed my own advice. But I always fail. You know that.
