Bobby Calibur

It’s been months since we last spoke. At least I think. I can’t really tell how much time has passed since you left so abruptly and took the early flight straight outta my life. No I’m sorry “our life”. Days go by and I feel nothing, except for the effects of a 10 day drinking binge and the pack of Camel Turkish Silver cigarettes I smoked two hours ago eating away at what lungs I have left. It was just too much for me to ever handle. Maybe this whole relationship/lightweight marriage/somewhat dull after a while, series of events that took place between you and me was never meant to be. Maybe I wasn’t meant to be next to someone on my journey to happiness. Sometimes I think I might have been intended to walk this earth on my own. This mission was a solo one in itself and there was no room for tagalongs or other halves that may have been able to paint the final picture. No as time has shown the picture must remain unclear. But, again for how long? How much time must pass before the picture begins to unravel and shed some colorful light into my vivid yet blurry due to the alcohol life? Hasn’t it been long enough? Haven’t I put in enough hardships? Why have I not still found the one? Why can’t I find what I’m looking for? And why am I asking these questions if it had only been 3 years ago I was so sure I did. So sure I had found what I was looking for. Yes I distantly remember these events. They are in no chronological or specific order, but kind of just smashed up as one big moment of my life that has now packed up and snuck through the back door on me. Fuck. This fucking memory has got to be the craftiest motherfucker on the planet. I didn’t even see it coming. Not in a million years would I have guessed that this little fuck of all things would turn its back on me. We had it made. Like Bonnie and Clyde. Two opposites each with a negative and positive end attracting each other from different corners, environments, and cultures into one happy place called Toledo. It’s funny how we managed to find heaven inside of hell. We spent 3 long years. No better make that short years, piecing together this work of art. And for what? To look at and admire when it was no longer relevant? When we no longer shared a bond was this something to look back on and say those random yet wonderful times help me become the character I am today. Had it been building up right in front of my very own eyes this whole time? Was I just blind to the fact that these times wanted no part in my novel and wanted to walk on outta of my life and be erased from my story? Like Jesus in the bible was my birthday only supposed to come every 15 years or so? Was there to be whole years and blanks pages just skipped and passed by in my life story? Were the memories sick of their home in my head? Or did they wear out there welcome and I asked them to leave? All these questions yet I still have no answers or do I. C’mon think you bastard you have the answers to these easy questions. Shit I do. I can’t just guess C for every question that won’t get me anywhere, well maybe a few right answers but that won’t pass the test. Ok well maybe I had control I of the whole situation. Yeah that’s right I had the pen in my hand writing the story of my life. It could have ended any way I chose. Yeah I must have been me that decided to end the story like this. All though I’m not 100% if I had wrote the ending on my own with no influence, help, or temptation but I can now vaguely remember writing the last few pages then shutting it closed.