I have this recurring nightmare. It terrifies me to lose my loneliness, to think that meeting someone might cause me to ’embrace old stories’ and erase them for the sake of love. as this mercurial, tortured bit of hopeful pop by MAU advocates. Fresh starts are stellar and all, but it’s a ‘thin line’ between loving and being too fucked up to love . The spark of love can be a wildfire that a safari entrepreneur would see as an opportunity, a business proposition with some lasting, loving side benefits.  He’d quell the flames  on the savannah with the sweetness of the moment. But that ‘warm light can also burn’. Epic starts aren’t always epic like they hope to be,  especially when one of you is a pyromaniac.  I can barely forget my last ‘Epic Start’, with a man 4 years ago now who had the misfortune of knowing too much about me. I was, as this song puts it, a love mess.

A bottomless kindness was his forte, but I would leave him in the middle of the night, drunk and passed out, cuddling in his armpit, to dart down the road  for the comfort and the solace of bathhouses. I’d  babysit a wandering sop of  a soul of a friend who shot his heart and the remnants of his body at all the passerbys. It wasn’t against the rules of our relationship, but it was against the decency of intimacy. We’d spend the nights excavating the meaning of Miike Snow tracks towards my stated goal of uncaging my heart; and sometimes in that dark bar, I could see his heart light up like a lantern. It lead me to the safety of the dancefloor in his arms and to his bed only to find me escaping them for a 3am booty call text that would plunge me back into all the types of darknesses. I was a love mess.

And he told me on Halloween that he loved me. I was dressed as a pterodactyl, but it may as well have been any costume–even naked. I was trying desperately that night not to remember I was a monster, but it was etched onto my epidermis. Skittles vodka helped, but so did laying on that floor in the middle of a party of his friends having an entire conversation on my thoughts about death. I was a love mess. And I was charming and charismatic that night, partly because those parts of me are who I am somewhere in there; but also I forgot elements of who I was under moments of that full moonlight.  Still, you brought me down to earth, because that’s what love does.

It was too much. So I led us to party after party that we crashed because part of me wanted to crash land the connection we’d made, severing it. But you were my ride home 400 miles away, and you had all my shit–not that this has ever stopped me before. Running has never not been in the vocabulary of my mind.  Something you did, the way that your soft words were like ‘soft silk, that choked [me]’, they kept me near you. But I had all these lines of thoughts from memories that kept running through my mind, so as you pleaded for me in your arms on some stranger’s couch, I searched high and low and high and low for that one noxious room in every party where you could end up high. I left you upstairs spouting sweet lines like a fucking therapeutic Shakespeare. And while  others watched your lines come out clean and pure,  I watched lines of thoughts in my head disappear like the lines on the back of the toilet. And I’d press my head against the mirror and open my eyes only once all the clutter had vanished from it and I knew that when I opened my eyes, I wouldn’t know who the fuck that was staring back at me. I was a love mess.

And I sat one night, with the snow blustering against my naked ass on a porch 30 miles north of the city–at an orgy of sorts, that I’d stumbled upon by happenstance—as you texted me where I was. Your friends were in town, we had plans. You had concerns that I was dead or getting there–that was always a concern at the time–and your text messages were lacquered in worry.  And as it rang all through the night, I sat on a couch by myself amongst a room of unconscious bodies, eyes beyond gone, blitzed as blitzed can be, and thinking of all the unspeakable things I needed to do to ‘save’ myself. to keep this loneliness from fleeing.  I wanted to lay my bones down in peace. And I thought of breaking up with you via lyrics to Dark Dark Dark’s ‘Daydreaming’ as voicemails of care came through. And I did. I mailed the card littered with those lyrics that night as I walked myself 7 miles through a blizzard to the nearest bus stop. I was a love mess for you no more.

It was always a thin line between me loving and hurting him. This love mess shouldn’t and couldn’t come through. I was always going to fuck this ‘Epic Start’.
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