The Sound of Love

Her sultry tone devoured at my ego, clawed at my patience and diminished my already sullen sense of self like a pack of hyenas slowly and methodically move in for the kill; every move is choreographed. Every move practiced and tried and tried and practiced. She goes for the jugular, I thought, as my blank computer screen became blank eyes that penetrated like lightning, yet colder than ice. The “out of sight, out of mind” mentality that plagued the past like a veil and a black hood obscured the truth to a reality fit for Picasso, and yet we traipsed through friendship like we were both a-singin’ in the rain, with red boots and a smile. The fog has lifted, but the weather is not clear. Black and gray dominate a lime-splashed sky filled with ideas of jealousy and brief glimpses of hatred. Yet it is a silent violence, unique to love. A slow, pious pain that envelops even the sauciest of men. Even the wittiest and most intellectual of men. Even the strongest of men. I run on a AA of hope; the secluded chance that I weathered the storm, holding dear to the sound of love.