The Metaphysicist (Kill Your Darlings) | Featured

the sexual tension increases

There are certain emotions that Lucien has decided look ugly on him, and anger is one of them, so he's replaced that with conviviality in the soles of his feet as he bounces across the sidewalk, in the swinging of his arms back and forth by his side, in the smile plastered upon his face to make it seem as though that anger isn't still present deep inside of him, except now it's not so much anger, rather a hollow confliction between the two opinions consuming his brain, one side knowing that I'm correct and the other side fighting that acceptance to instead live forever in its childish reverie.

I have chosen not to talk or think about that minor argument in the house right before we ventured outside of it towards the library, because I would prefer to save the arguments for later, when we're crumbling like I know we will be eventually. This is the state of a relationship where everything looks beautiful to the couple, where they've just met and are whirled into each other, into their magnificence, into their quirks, into their knowledge that they share with the opposite party to allure them, and each part of this state is what people would love to remain in, but unfortunately that is not how relationships operate. No one can afford to spend their honeymoon forever. However, that's where Lucien and I are as long as we can afford it, and that bliss shouldn't be squandered on worrying about what will happen when we are no longer in this state, so this trip to the library is both a refresher from the prior argument and a reminder that life is exceptionally beautiful just as the other person is.

Yes, this isn't a library trip born from the desire to take a break from life in the apartment, because Lucien actually has a job here, a job from which he'll probably be fired if he abstains from working to instead relish the metaphysical terrors of writing alongside me, and quite frankly we're in need of money, so to be fired from our only source of income (besides Lucien's dwindling fund left from skipping college) would not be so pleasant, and I'm not sure how we would survive after that, which means I shouldn't pressure Lucien into staying in that apartment even if we didn't have that argument earlier, and this library excursion is ostensibly essential to our survival.

It's not like he actually has to work diligently, though, because he can pretend like I'm a regular library patron and not his familiar roommate, and Lucien's manager won't give a shit as long as he doesn't find out about our relationship to one another, and even then we have an excuse of my urge to write an article, and I'm sure his manager will appreciate my intellectual merit, as I must have enough of it to visit the fucking library in order to expand on that intellectual merit through a dreary article that only impresses people who have no knowledge of their own and feed off of me, acting as though they've received it after reading my work when in reality they'll always be the same dimwitted fools that they have always been, because intelligence is derived by experiencing the world, not by reading about it through a lens of artificiality, and writers are to blame for this, I suppose, because they experience this world so vividly that they write about it vividly, yet it's not the same as the real life, but regular people assume it is, so that's all for which they settle, and they've therefore lured themselves into a painful existence of mediocrity that they aren't aware of and will continue to dwell in until they experience the world vividly through their own vision, but that's highly unlikely for people who have already delved into reading articles like it's the heroin that these self-titled scholars can all afford from the comfort of their sitting rooms as they have no idea that I'm suffering through hell, and that's okay, because they wouldn't really understand anyway, but Lucien does, and that's why I'm glad that if I'm to be snared in a flimsy relationship, it's with him.

And he looks so amazing in his trance upon the sidewalk, spritzed by splendor in the heavenly dew commonly found upon grass freshened in the morning air. I never wish to disturb him, but we're at the library now, and the slamming and the creaking of the doors will surely rattle him, as well as the subtle chattering of the library patrons who really don't want to be here but are forced into it by their parents who have concluded that perpetual studying is the way to go, and even through this sound, Lucien is as cherubic as always, a blessing to us all.