Jealousy; exercise of social familiarity

(written 4/10/2012)

It floods me. It wipes my compassion clean like a day old baguette mercilessly sopping up gravy. All the tender crevices of poorly protected sore spots are smothered to near irreparable disarray as it course through my bloodstream.  The lot of my triggers is tripped. And when it’s coated all my insides, thick and sloppy, I am stunned into my impressionable, vulnerable mortality.

Nothing ever permeates to such an emotional pitch as coagulated jealousy.  And nothing has ever glittered quiet as magnificently as the pinnacle beacon of my stylized loving. Where there is love, there is jealousy, trumping on toes of adoring resolve. Elemental but compelling, my emotional terrain blossoms like a 2 year old psyche.

From here, tucked under the linens of familiar blankets while nestled on reliability of my couch, it should be safe. A million miles of virtual space fortified by hundreds of actualized mileage stretched between you and me. From here, you cannot see or hear me; you cannot smell if I am recently showered or if I’ve eaten too much garlic. From the fortress of my cocoon couch, safety from your influence seems steadfast. Oh, couch, my enclosure of anonymity.

Despite the padding of distance, it’s the silence that’s the loudest scream, penetrating so deep, nerve fibers repeatedly loop negative feedback for weeks after week. You cannot see or hear me nor know if I’ve refused to shower. But it’s vibrant with all the virtual mileage and three dimensional space sledge-hammered between me: a screaming, sustained silence of disconnect. Disinterest. Dislike. I can hear you the most clearly when you say nothing at all. Your message dissolves my protections. What space, what couch, what blanket.