Dancing in the Dark

"THESE are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink..." I am the summer soldier, I am the sunshine patriot. I am shrinking away from everyone and everything that I have never known. I have created a barricade: I am burrowing inside of myself, and in the process of trying to find a single soul to save me from the succession of my spirit, I lie to them. I love them and then forget. I take their money and their time. I steal their hearts without giving mine in return.

His kiss was like a postage stamp. It was quick and short, and it sent me away as if he knew that it would be a long wait before anything came back to him. He was unsure of any of the damage it would receive on the trip back, and he was unsure whether it would get lost or even attempt to come back. The U.S. Postal Service is like that. I'm more of an email girl, myself. I like long kisses with lots of data and attachments that are sent away and replied to in an instant. But he used the U.S. Postal Service, and he walked away in doubt. I can't help that. I created that fear. He couldn't make me a habit if I didn't want him to be a part of my internet database. To tell the truth, I'm still stuck on the last email that I received. I sent the initial and the initial was replied to in a half-hearted way that left me wanting more. He was a favorite on my web browser, but then he disappeared. And I want him back.

I try to draw him with other people. I withdraw fluid from their souls, splattering any similarity on a canvas shaped like him. But the empty spaces kill me. The improper use of communication systems kills me. The tingling disappointment on my lips kills me. The goosebumps left on my arm and on my heart kill me, and I become a corpse, the living dead, existing only to extract life and warmth from the innocent.

You can't start a fire, sitting around crying over a broken heart. This gun is for hire, even if we're just dancing in the dark.