Mortal Angel

{the vulnerable scrawl that wants to be my novel for NaNoWriMo}

Thursday, November 11, 2004

 

Fourteen ~ Liberation

Dear S-----,

       Does it surprise you that in midst of gales of laughter and too-loud voices, the freedom of bodies in varying degrees of intoxication and a desire for carefree amusement, I am sitting in a forgotten corner with my notebook, eyes wide and pen busy, but mouth still? Legs bent, keeping my feet out of the way of alcohol-inhibited steps, looking up to smile at a joke now and again, but mostly in attempts to see what it is about this clamorous mess that so attracts everyone. Reflexes slowed, to the endless amusement of all onlookers, who laugh at the foolishness of those who look no more ridiculous than themselves. I suppose the appeal lies in the liberation from your own norms, desires followed without the restrictions imposed by conscience, society, or reason, being able to let everything go for a few hours and lose oneself in the flirting, dancing, touch and attention.

       And truthfully? I'm drawn to that as well, there are so many things I would like to be, only my conscious self holds me back...

       But the deeper fear is what I might become, if I allowed myself. As it is, I don't worry enough about myself (walking around the campus at 3 a.m., completely alone?), so with inhibitions lowered... and I'm just as hormonal as the rest, if anything more so, since I don't go around hanging on an assortment of guys (or girls) on a daily basis.

       I haven't kissed anyone in... a year? And goodness knows it's not for a lack of sexual drive. Something in me looks at the ragged circle across the room, an alternate version of spin-the-bottle, the group as a whole calling out to the chosen couple what sort of kiss it's to be and in what position... something in me wants that, wants that kind of attention, no strings attached just the rush of contact...

       But I don't think I could do it, my emotions would tangle themselves around everything and drag meaning into what was meaningless, exacerbating a deeper need than physical desire.

       I have far less dangerous places I can lose myself in - streetlights glittering from dark reflections on a rain-washed parking lot, the tangle of branches against a cloud-painted sky, the yearning of a song as it brushes against the soul.

       People try to outdo each other with the wildness of the tales they can tell of nights like this... what is it in us that is so drawn to extremes? The excitement of something new, the daring of unexpected action. People want the attention of others, they want to inspire awe... they want to make an impression, and be remembered.

       That, too I'm not at all immune to.

       So why am I sitting here alone, detached from it all? Not that I'm unhappy here, but... even in the midst of a crowd, I still feel lonely. A pleasant melancholy, but there's still a part of me that wants to be among them. Yet I can't, I don't know what but something holds me back, chains me to this wall I initially sought comfort in.

       I think... it requires a certain amount of confidence in yourself to be able to let go, and not care how you might seem, who people will think you are.

       A confidence I don't have.

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