Waking up without Aaron,
empty bedroom
with flashbacks
of desperately frenzied fucking
just hours before…
I’m always reminded
of my single sexual experience with Jeff
in his Grandfather’s basement.
Waking alone then…
I had been devastated.
What did he think and feel
as he disentangled himself
from my sleeping
naked
freshly fucked form?
Did he smile?
Did he regret?
Was he afraid of my morning after reaction?
I’ve never asked these questions before.
Did he snuggle against me
as his cum simmered inside me?
Did he kiss me goodbye?
These questions have never haunted me
as they do today.
“mad men who remember”
are lonely.
Did he dress in the basement?
Did he shower?
How many other men had he left in this manner?
Who were they?
Did they hear about me?
If so, were they jealous? Or maybe excited?
How many others were there after me?
I have no way of knowing.
My only bridge to that knowledge
is tenuous at best.
“Don’t fall in the river!”
At least my mad man remembers something.
I doubt he could answer my questions…
Perhaps we share that bed
in dream fragments
that he’s unable to decipher?
Or maybe he remembers everything
and keeps it to himself;
thinking it a dream
and terrified that I won’t remember?
He loved me.
I know that much.
He was beautiful
and he wanted me.
That sort of makes it bearable,
doesn’t it?
Those unendurable unanswered questions
are made beautiful by what we were together
and what we chose to do with the time that we had.
This theory is the only answer that I have.
Written by Jason Wright
January 10, 2018
Much of this was scribbled in a notebook on a train, on April 27, 2017. I always meant to return to this notebook and complete what I’d haphazardly written there. I didn’t expect it would take nearly a year to do so, but here we are.
For Jeff, who casted a long shadow,
and for Aaron – my partner in all things.