A Portrait of a Newfound Bachelor
Written by: Stephen Keaton
At times, I wanted the great moment to be just that... That happy man with his bride to be, all well-planned like a fixed chess match where all the pieces checkmate without none being the wiser. I wanted that. I wanted that woman to change my world and sort of lift me up, bring me out of this slump after defeat... But, that opportunity has been lost for over a decade and, the actual event, if not held in private, will be suicidal matrimony. No one will show because all my bridges are burnt to an unholy crisp that denies all believers. I wish that I had kept my friends from earlier, but there is no going back. The family could give a shit and I will most likely be hiring a witness for cheap and booze to make the union legit under state eyes, but that is hardly ideal.
The overbearing scene of people my age sealing the deal under the "proper" circumstances most definitely makes me feel a bit illegitimate these days, with no direction towards an ends to a means. I already threw that fucking compass overboard, and have gone blind from staring at the sun all day trying to look better than I am and ignoring the guiding light of the stars.
I have my playlist set for my wedding with Catherine; there is a lot of Elliott and Damien, and of course Ray. I want to include a tragic, yet happy piece by Bright Eyes of which true lovers run off together, ignoring their troubles and living in embrace… It's a very childish notion, but so am I. I like that simplicity of connection. In all fairness, I read more of a peaceful demise with that song where the clichéd Romeo and Juliet face their fate almost with a smile, knowing that death is not the end. I wanted that notion to be gospel, yet, with faith, who knows what is real.
...And I knew that under any circumstance I would forsake any temptation in order to have her.
I think we worked in our disparity. It was a mutual loss from different angles, acute enough to make others jealous of what they witnessed. It's hard to count the times that, when viewed in public, we were coined as the "cutest couple" or something of that sort. I felt the same sentiment because we fit like pieces in a drug-crazed Picasso where the lines actually made sense and features made sense to no common man. No one understood us, yet loved the simple distraction that we could cause; looking sweet one moment, then robbing a liquor store the next with an unwitting cashier gagged and bound, begging for his life and the love of his kids.
Those are real tears, and that scenario is one imagined and one I/we would never want to see. With deviance comes a propriety that seeks common respect. I am sure that is not understood under the force of a true Bonnie and Clyde duo, but it’s fun to pretend. Too many claim to search for and post that “Partner in Crime” shit that reads desperation on dating websites… Those lost and deceiving souls will carry on in search of the lost cause.
That’s not my problem. The search is over and there is a new reality; it all breaks down to a ruined man scorned for being in love and chasing the dragon… And it worked like a drug for a while.
For a night, the phone is silent. I haven't cleared it with my inner voices on how to feel about this, but it seems like something that I may have to adjust to, and all that has gone wrong... Who wants to live this way?... The starving artist is just chomping at the bit to not be dismissed, or at least not forgotten, but always destroys connection with anything that paid interest.
...And like a chorus, I would like to sing, "I'm sorry I never grew up!”
I never moved on and memory prevails.
...And those leading words will never save the sinking who has weighed his ship with lead corsets.
“Merry Christmas to my distant and long lost captain,” she wrote to me on a tear soaked letter that was cloaked in her scent.
At least she is still thinking about me. Let her know that I am thinking about her, too.
