I am learning about rejection. We haven’t been acquainted for a while but i can taste her in the bitter aftertaste she leaves in my tongue. I can smell her in the acrid air in the gutters. I am blinded by her in the glaring streetlights just when you wake up from a nap in your car.
I don’t really know her well, but i am slowly learning her contours. She is not well-molded. She is just lumped up together like an afterthought. She is ugly, i can give you that. She is not perfect. But when she rubs on you, she takes away a part of you with a cruel smile. She leaves her pungent perfume on you for evidence. She puts a scowl on your face and makes your spirits take a nose-dive.
She is the desperate cry of a baby when it’s sick and can’t express herself any other way. She is the piteous look of the beggar with a gaping wound on his foot. she is the dead look of the cancer patient who is fed up with all the needles, chemo and the unendurable pain. She is the feel of betrayal that overwhelms her when she comes home to find you in bed with the house-help. She is the emptiness that drowns him when you call it quits weeks before the wedding.
I am getting intimate with rejection. I really am not up for the arrangement, but she is seductive. I find myself falling for her cheap words and colorful promises. I find myself enticed by her slow trails on my body and whisper of sweet-nothings. I find myself in marvel of her craftiness. Then find out a while later that I’ve rubbed shoulders with her. Shared my food and thoughts with her.
I really don’t like rejection. But once in a while she comes and hangs around. At times i entertain the thought of her and the possibilities of what could be. But when the sun rises, i find myself bolting the door on her ugly face and rinsing my skin off of her scent.