I drink my coffee black. No sugar, no cream, and no foo-foo blenders fucking up the perfection. I prefer strong and bold flavors. At one time I drank 3-4 pots of the stuff everyday until I realized it was indeed, a bad habit to have, and the rebound headaches from being off coffee were kicking my ass. I quit cold turkey until it no longer occurred to me to reach for it first.

I still have a cup every now and then, like tonight, when there is actually snow in my part of the world (yesterday I wore shorts and had 80 degree weather), but I don’t have that same addiction calling me as it once did.

Ice water is still a major vice. Sex too.

Anger was pouring off his skin like liquid. His fingers curled into his palms as he stalked over to the table, one that had been sitting there since it was settled into place years ago. The fingers turned into claws as he dug them into the surface, seeking purchase upon the edge before he lifted and threw it as much as any man could. The wood made a sickening crack, another noise resigned to the thick pages of memory. It wobbled and then settled on the floor, a broken piece, no longer useful.

He roared, his hands tearing the cloth from across his chest, ignoring how his skin peeled away under the unforgiving bite of his nails. He felt the sting but it only fueled his rage. The sight of his fingers cut, starting to slick with the fresh flow of blood made him curse his God. His clothing hung drunkenly open, deep paths carved into his skin that would heal, but wouldn’t be forgotten. He leaned against the wall, taking in the destruction before him and he was not satisfied. Not satisfied with the sight, the feeling, the still bubbling well of anger.

His chest heaved and he struck out at the first fragile thing that remained somehow unbroken…and tossed it against the picture on the wall. They both shattered so easily, the picture sliding down until another crack was heard, glass falling on the wood floors. It repeated, these angry acts, until only the whole pieces were the chair and the framed picture of them both holding on for life before the cord was released. He leaned against the wall again and closed his eyes. His shoulders slumped. He sank slowly down and simply sat there, emptying the last of his rages out with the blood that poured from his fingers.

How much time passed is irrelevent. When he heard the sound of a foot on the remains of his life, he looked up, his eyes as empty as they’ve ever been. His throat tightened. He swallowed the lump that formed there and buried his head in the fold of his arms and sobbed out the only thing left. There was a hand on his shoulder and he was grateful for it even if that hand couldn’t undo the damage.

You’ve found me. I’m sitting here staring at the screen, listening to the sound of rain hitting the stone path leading from my back doors. My eyes are heavy-lidded. I’m sedated from too much work, too much sex and too much to think about. It’s rather like I move so fast that the world slows down for me - except it’s an illusion. I’m just tired and I’m using everything to keep me from having to think. Like a fire that you want to keep lit lest it abandon you to the cold and dark, you toss even scraps of wood and paper to gather another moments fuel, but still it manages to elude you, growth, and it all becomes an uphill struggle to even see the light burning.

Was there ever a light?

It sounds grim, I see it as I type out the words, but its still…better. I’ve resumed life as I know it. I jog, daily, sometimes twice. I lift weights and now, after eating much food prepared for me (I’m spoiled in that regard) I am sticking to everything I know about keeping good health. That keeps me focused, such a simple act, an act of control, ruling over my food with an iron fist. That zucchini never knew what hit it.

I spent a few hours yesterday with a close friend taking a road trip out to the middle nowhere on a highway that could be frequented by serial killers and pitch fork toting locals. Why? To eat at a wonderful restaurant on a whim, fried chicken. I’ve never enjoyed grease so much in my life. A candlelit dinner, on a patio with a huge plate of fried chicken on a plate between us.

Throw in sweet tea and I felt like a true Southerner. It was the drive back that cemented my love of all things urban. This town, and I can think of nothing smaller, shut down, with the exception of the restaurant, at 6 in the evening. The sky was pitch black, the only illumination came from the headlights of my (beloved) car. However, on the drive in, the highway opened up, the speeds crept up to 65mph (70-75mph) and the city lights came slowly into view. The skyscrapers are outlined in various colors and a few (pre-mature) Christmas lights.

Toss in fair weather, cool humidity, good music, the company and everything was….good.

Something that I can say still brings a smile to my lips, despite the circumstances and my fatigue. Perhaps it won’t be so bad.

I’ll never tell you what it was that kept me away. I’ll never share how I felt about any one instance of my recent weeks. Can you live with that? I like my secrets and the comfort they provide me, the balm that, in keeping them, soothes my wounds. I’ll think about them, but you won’t be privy to my thoughts. I don’t keep them to protect you, or because this is some great knowledge of which you are unable to possess.

I’m simply not as calloused in those areas as I might like and the flesh is raw - bleeding and scraped, screaming in agony from one too many saltwater baths. I’ve cried and I hate even admitting that, feel the shame of it, but I tell you to help you understand that I am not myself. Not cold, but indeed, swallowed by a depth of pain which even now closes my throat and forces my teeth to clench with the effort to control it.

I’ll never tell you why. At least today, you’ll not know. Or Tomorrow. Never, if I don’t close the wound in my ways. With my secrets.

Tomorrow will be different, days always rise and fall like tides and emotions follow that same ebb and flow. Tomorrow I may seem more like myself. Tomorrow I may be darker, colder. I yearn for the absence now.

I want to float and forget these past weeks.

And I won’t tell you why.

My heart has surely stopped, but my mind dances in the abyss - everything and nothing at once.