Lying in bed tonight strumming a few low frequency notes and I felt it again. Sometimes I’m not sure if it is an addiction but now I’m beginning to feel that it is on the one thing in this world that I cannot walk away from. It whispers to me like soft tremors that I feel in my cartilage.
I am weak because I have a bacterial infection from this strep throat, but I don’t need these painkillers I am prescribed. I need my pain and I miss it, I will welcome it when it returns to me like a veteran from distant war.
I felt the sides of my ribcage, tender from a few push ups at rugby practice. All too familiar for this body that heals slowly each night, waiting for the chance to perform.
If you are not going heavy then go the fuck home. If you are not laying on the bathroom floor and people are not walking buy you asking you why your sweat is a puddle. If your eyes are not bloodshot and you cannot feel the veins spidering across the reach of your skull, fighting to supply oxygen to your head.
Do not grate your flesh with the coarse beauty that are those grips, the unkind steel that never tires of war.
I have been away for three weeks now. I have to go back, I have to set my play list and lay out my clothes. I have to to lace my shoes and tighten my straps. I have to wear sweat pants and an oversize shirt that I might not gaze upon an imperfect frame. Monday, I’m going back. In sickness or in health, till death do us part.