The Anesthesia of Empty Lust

She wasn’t living life on her terms. This wasn’t her spreading her wings. She lied to herself and labeled it just a bit of fun.

Make no mistake…this was drowning.

She had done all the right things at the right places for all the right people. Sometimes, you can do everything right and still lose. That’s the bitter irony of having a heartbeat.

And her’s still beat, and ached. It still felt every letdown and disappointment like tiny, slow deaths. It was a chronic, dull and seemingly never ending heartbreak.

To quell the pain, she would seek refuge in the arms of anyone offering the illusion of kindness, the empty promise of intimacy or, more often lately, the anesthesia of empty lust.

Man or woman, it made no difference. Just the warm touch of anyone, became her dragon. And she chased the dragon with manic determination.

Recently, though, she would come up for air less and less often. Gulping oxygen into her bruised soul long enough for the cold descent back down.

This was an attempt, an ideation. This was beyond a cry for help, this was about extinguishing her dimmed light, one hotel, one car seat…one bed at a time.

Whatever led her through the doors of my world that night, I’ll never know. A Devine placement of two broken vessels, set on a collision course by faith and providence? Or just a random encounter that would change lives and worlds? I’ll never know. I don’t need to know.

What I do know is I still see the light that shines in her. 

And I’ll extend my hand, with nothing asked for in return, hoping that she sees it as I intend.

I know that ache, I’ve felt similar waters of dispair. 

If she will only take my hand…

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