That Loving Feeling

I can’t seem to get that feeling back.

I’ve spent most of my life trying not to remember technicoloured moments; screaming so loud it seems to be all around me, blood staining off-white tiles, the smell of stale beer so thick you choke on it. I’ve fought them down, drowned them in the poison in my veins, suffocated them with smoke and music, and now – argh! Now that I want to hold on to a moment I find it fuzzy, insubstantial. The harder I cling the more it seems to slip away, and that sense of freedom like fire ripping through my sluggish life cools and stumbles to a halt.

I want it back.

I chase it through dark alleys, slam its head into brick walls. I bathe myself in recreations of it, but how can they ever compare to that moment? Suddenly understanding I was not the slave I’d always been, that my life wouldn’t fall into the same set patterns that my parents left as footprints in the sand.

It was the wave that washed it all away.

There’s a gurgling hiccup. I am sitting on my haunches, clothes protected in a plastic bag a few feet away. He is trying to crawl his way towards something, but whatever freedom he imagines he might find is as impossible as my release. I know this. I trail my fingers through his blood and know it.

Killing him didn’t feel the way I thought it would. The way I needed it to.

It was nothing like the first, and I can’t seem to get that feeling back.

 

Today’s image comes to you courtesy of Rene Blais. Check out his work  on His Facebook Page, and see more about him on Lucid Dreaming’s Contributors Page; with model Missy Anne.