making sacrifices

By Reggie Woods

her surreptitiousness was getting to me, but simultaneously i was grateful for nights of unworrisome slumber. keeping close watch on the cell phone had become a nostalgic activity, only surprise coming from its ring, never relief. thank god. yes, those days were awful. they were wonderful at the same time, but thank god i can sleep now for there is no more fear of a MIA truant. not that my demeanor was necessarily punctilious, but awaiting and longing for such a misguided youth can turn one quite tenebrous. it makes one hard to hug, to hold. that lacking of commitment instills an appreciation, even a celebration, for each moment of tender affection enacted physically in those dim and lonesome hours of barrage by strangers and nihilistic compatriots. emotions imbricate, but quickly clutter. the stacks are uneven and about to tumble, much like a poorly played game of jenga. i realized it was my choice. will i pull out the block that brings upon us destruction and chaos leaving a pile of shitty wooden blocks scattered among a table that is more apt to support our fragile glasses of wine? or will i steady the tower and play architect to something as monumental as the tancici dum or even a basic structure which is simply content to be stable? of course she would have an elaborate and beautiful architectural phenomena which is devoid of any practical purpose, only delights and bewilders the eye. not the structure i would build, but i suppose i will. i will until contretemps unveils its true nature, a flashy stack of vertiginous blocks with a false foundation. you will touch my face and hug me with the strength of a bear. you will gaze longingly into my eyes with aspiration for a savior, and sigh disappointedly on the shoulder of a martyr. you will press your breasts against me and inhale deeply the aroma of my neck. you will kiss me, once per time, and even look deep into my eyes and tell me you love me. you will do all of this and go home to some other man. i will let you, trying to build your fantastic tower. i will hold and caress you, i will participate in your jokes, laugh with you, carry you through the day, because you want me to be your friend. i'm building your tower. and you go home to some unnameable place never even able to imagine how i yearn and long to kick the shit out of this tower, scattering the blocks into the corners of the room where no one ever sits nor stands, to places where only brooms ever reach. brooms and uninvited cockroaches. but i won't do it because i can choose happiness or chaotic fury and pseudotragedy, and the day is much easier with a smile on your face.