Crypt Keeper
- Tevyn Gill
- Jun 15, 2018
- 2 min read
21.08.17
Females wanted me, but not for the reasons they thought they did. Actually, I’m not even sure they knew what their reasons were. All they saw were the dimples in my, now sporadic, smile and they each went off into their own fairy tale of how we could be, I suppose. But, though they were yet to know, I was really just a piece of shit, and they would find out all too soon.
I belched boldly, took disgusting dumps, made the most inappropriate jokes and I occasionally got belligerently drunk. I barely messaged, never called and I fvcked and then rolled over (and by over, I mean over and out of that motherfvcker). I was a scumbag to say the least, sometimes proudly so. It had kept me protected over these long hard years. But it also kept me distant. As a result, I feared I’d never actually allow myself to feel for anyone; a future I was all too comfortable with, but knew would never be the happiest version of me.
Maybe “the one” was out there somewhere. The one that would change all of this and ignite a fire inside me so large that it would burn far above the walls I’ve built to keep my emotions at bay. A flame so intense that the very heat of it would be felt from the chewed tips of my fingers to the corns on my toes. It would cause my heart to beat out of my chest and my brain to short circuit. It would cause the resurrection of romance in a barren wasteland where all initial attraction came to die. A dark, misty, sketchy cemetery scene (like from the movies) where my sexual encounters from past and eventual present were all laid to rest, nothing but withering arrangements left in their memorial. Most of them, their tombstones would read nothing but names or dates, acknowledging their brief existence. Some special ones, however, managed to leave back legacies that could inscribe a compelling novella of an almost affection. Regardless, nothing lived in this place, with its air of death and despair and it’s high walls and it’s lone and lonely crypt keeper that continued to dig empty holes when he’d rather be in love.
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