The Broken Hearted Young Gentlemen

September 13, 2012
By Anonymous

He was in a relentless denial phase. Envisioning nothing but the past throughout the shaded nameless days. His bowed head unrecognizable in the fluorescent city street lamp, gazing directly into an abyss no other right headed man could spot. His ability to perceive reality silently slipping away, as the graceful and content tomcat down the street. She had cruelly departed him, knowing how vulnerable and unpredictable his personality traits were. Oh how his eyes sullen and sinking, his insides vacant, and his pale skin shivering and feverish. He had remained mute as a stone ever since his past lover left an enormous aperture in his heart. The man could mesmerize a skeleton with a singular gleaming stare. He was trapped, neither proceeding forward and nowhere to faithfully lean back. He, was heartbroken. His soul slowly, but again, rapidly burning out like the cigarette he just finished. The poisonous tar in his lungs, and some caffeinated substance creeping in his bloodstream, he stood from the grey object they called a bench and precariously stumbled into the streets.

Vaughn, was the daunted and disheartened young mans name. Before she had abandoned him a few weeks previously, he had many aspirations, hopes, and dreams. Every once in a while, a night like this would come and the fragile and paralyzed being she'd created would arrive uninvited, wrapping at the door of his mental well being. Overwhelmingly interfering him. Devilishly slithering in like a python, consuming all hope and strangling all positive spirits.

Finally coming to notice his own frightened shallow breath and whereabouts, he decided he'd endeavor those dreaded meditative exercises. He'd read them in the San Diego Independent Journal, an exclusive and hip series of weekly writing entries. Her favorite. The article distributed simple instruction, basic deep breathing and a pleasant closed eye visual. Closing his eyes, he began mentally packing his worries in a navy blue sail boat and attempting to ship it away. Yet the boat would linger close, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how strong the tied. Here he was, resting on the steps of an upper class hotel. Not recalling exactly how he got there, feeling as hopeful as a cancer victim half a year late to their physical. He rose from the concrete. Vaughn had not eaten a significant meal for the last two days, only feeding off cigarettes and coffee.

Vaughn Clarence. The starved, vulnerable, pathetic, and depressed fool. Wandering the sidewalks of a city he did not belong in, filled of festive gatherings and jubilant vibes. He had an immediate urge to find deep slumber, but it abruptly crept away when he thought of the nightmares to come with it. Finally settling his despaired and aching interest in a vinyl record store, his heart rate picking up. Searching for the addicting record she'd played day by day of their romance. Vibrating off the pastel painted walls of his studio apartment. Perhaps he could take it over to her place, gently place it upon her old styled player, if she would so reluctantly let him enter. He missed her more than anything he'd longed for. She made his heart wrench and bellow with vivid and despaired melody. If only he could see her once more, a time enough to beg her to let him intrude her life again. He stood there contemplating and at last found his indecisive grasp at the record and began to walk the long walk to the register. In the middle of the plague like procession, he consciously questioned if he heard a distant voice directed towards his-self. Swiping his golden headed face around, looking for that voice. A woman, searching for the time. She'd smiled at him, so sincerely and personal. She'd hinted for casual conversation, and after the exchange he noted her name was Fuchsia. Her sultry eyes and crazy careless long hair suited her spontaneous and beauteous self. It was the first human voice speaking to him in a great withering while, wanting to talk to him. Replacing the record back in it's righteous place, Vaughn had known it had made an impact that he concluded was impossible to make. Maybe he didn't have to face this terror and depression alone. There was glorious love and beautiful happiness out there waiting for his advent. Maybe he would consume a real meal tonight.

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