Author S. K. Nicholas

As the lights from a passing car illuminate her face, the whiskey in my belly alleviates rational thought. Her body is monolithic; it makes my hands do strange things not against my will but against my sense of good taste. Drinking to summon and to repress in equal measure. The weight of love, and how it feels to be its victim. To think of every sunrise as it casts the eye of God over the land as if for the very first time. To think of when I first saw her, and how in a split-second, I knew she would be mine. There’s something so tender in how we search for salvation in the heart of another. We’re all broken, each and every one of us. Some splinter into a thousand pieces, others do their best to heal themselves. Lord knows I’ve tried. It works for a while, but in the end, I can’t help but watch it fall apart with indifference. There’s romance in me, and yet it never seems to stick around. The need for stillness. Obsession with freedom of thought. They look into my eyes and don’t see me. It’s not my fault; it’s just how I am. I wish I were like them, but it won’t happen. After three decades of shifting between despair and comfort, there will never be a middle-ground. Happiness is something that once shimmered on the horizon, but it was just a mirage. Despite my best efforts, I can’t settle for something so bereft of sincerity. Maybe I’ve not met the right one, or maybe I’m too selfish- too fixated on what can never be achieved. I won’t settle for less than magic that’s for sure. You have to believe in what isn’t there; in something that offers only faith. I’m not looking for salvation, just a day when logic is seen for what it really is- nothing other than a product of a jailed mind. La Mer. J’ai une âme solitaire.