The Same Street

He seemed to have been pacing around for a while now, constantly shuffling on his feet, as if that would keep the nerves from flowing and eventually exiting his body through his feet. “We will meet…”, he had glimpses of these words in his head, written with a passion that makes the edges curve in improbable, yet seemingly natural ways. 

He lit a cigarette and he had an urge to light another, these were things which didn’t occur constantly, instead, they occurred as often as the sighting of another life form, frequent, yet not empirical. “…when the humans hide like rodents and are afraid to come out.”, his senses tingled with a lurid spark, lurid to the people around, to the people who are so busy being a part of this constrained living that they forget true feelings. Or learn to hide them.

It was all because of the summers they had spent together, walking around, drinking cheap alcohol, sharing cigarettes, having to share beds because they weren’t born with a replica of their father’s wallets. They were the same men that you saw everyday, seemingly normal, but having a conflict of such high proportions inside that they always feel torn between two personalities, the one they’ve created or the one that they feel is innate. It was like choosing between shoes that your girlfriend approves of and the ones that you had bought with gigantic doses of excitement.

He was to meet him, at the place where they belonged, with no one around, just a crispy wind blowing, touching their necks just like the touch of the other’s fingers, the gentle caress of the fingers that you love so dearly, yet have never held enough, kissed enough. He was to meet him at the same street where they played around as kids, the same street their kids were not allowed to visit.

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