The threat

There is a moment, a holed-in moment, that I know particularly well.
I’ve always complained about, struggled against, chewed in and out my aimless ability to die in the arms of people, some of them I barely knew.

One would say it’s a matter of instinct.
I beg to differ.
Instinct is a matter of survival, awkwardly enough, what I presumably do is to put my survival at risk when I leave my own life is someone else’s hands.
Therefore, it is not instinct.

One would say it’s an existential luxury I allow myself to.
I beg to differ.
The costs of this kind of luxury are enough to shatter all the credit life has given me.
Therefore, it is not an existential luxury.

I say I will not complain, struggle against or chew in and out about this ability anymore.

For I know that there’s a lethal dose in those traps for me. And it is the edge, the rushing race to see how soon before I can fall I can capture the moment, the holed-in moment, where everything is worthwhile, no rules or exceptions, for the sake of this soulful exchange.

Maybe someday I’ll get trapped. (Hopefully, I will.)

Maybe one day someone, somewhere, somehow will take away the fine thread that separates this type of control from the never ending fall.

Until then, I’ll just laugh it off and entertain myself with random thoughts of how it would be if I’d only allow myself to let go into the arms of someone I don’t even barely know. So I can, hopefully, really let go of this unfaithful pose and all the ridiculous trains of thought that legitimize the way that I am today, the today after you.