THE OCEAN FLOOR

B. McGILLICUDDY

The other day, when it was raining, I felt a strange weight on this old, under-developed noggin. And it wasn't the barometric pressure, let me tell you. I got to thinking about how desensitized I'd become to everything and everyone and how little I really cared about the world, especially since the last few months have left me convinced that the world doesn't give an inch of cock shit about me. I've found that only a select few people do care at all really. And the sad thing about it is that, we've all been hurt so many times, we're each inclined to hurt other people in our own ways out of self-defense, and are so afraid of being hurt now, that we've all got our guards up when we should just be loving each other all 'newborn litter of puppies' like.

Now I personally believe that the complexity of human communication is beautiful in all its facets, because the chemicals that are pulsing through each of our brains, simply because of the languages we speak and the things that we've seen and known, make us a different type of person than damn near every other one on the planet, not to mention all the folks in the history of it. And the fact that there are other people in this era that I can listen to, and appreciate, and fear, and love, well jesus christ goddamnit. It just feels good to have things, y'know. Especially people.

Back to when it was raining though. I got to thinking about the last person who's metaphysical knife got past the first, second, third, all the way through the tenth perimeters of my soul's defense, and about how she decided that the simplest way out was to pull a coitus interruptus and take a bit of my nervous system with her. I think it takes a damn coward to admit to loving someone and then allow their heads to just freeze up into a tundra of apathy after giving themselves away like that, in symbiosis, as someone who needs people, and who people end up needing. Jesus, that's my hurt talking now, because how else are you going to find something that's real good if you aren't willing to get hurt that bad again?

There are some really beautiful people out there though. And some of them might have been just like her once. Hell, she might be a beautiful soul now too as far as I know. But I don't reckon I've got the proper energy to go back there, to her. Saved that currency up all my life and then she had me spend it in one short go. Wish I could head back to her, but I kind of hope I wouldn't take the chance if it were given to me. I need to find me a reformed knife-wielder. The kind that let's things and people in because she knows how she'll react when the pressure's on. But the kind that's not afraid anymore. The kind that's seen that life's hard and hard-boiled and mushy in the middle every-which-way you bite into it, and that a knife is just good for hooking her a person who can get good and stabbed, not some iron-fisted doorstop of a android.

I'm the kind of guy that'll take no for an answer if he thinks it's right. But that'll fight those two damn letters, lowercase even, to the death, if they threaten what's left of my spine. Because these nerves are especially reserved for being bound to a knife-wielder's blade. For sheathing the dagger of a fiery dame who can watch me go and go and go and knows when I'm getting too far. But won't chase me until that very moment. The kind of woman who's got spirit and grace and some semblance of romance behind her silly eyes, because lord knows, she's going to need silly eyes. I want to stare her down, all the way down to the ocean floor, then float her back up for air so gentle, that her blood don't boil at all. Not one bubble of it.

Anyway, the other day it was raining and I got to thinking, what if love's a real thing?

B. McGILLICUDDY