I have known some beautiful women in my time. Some of the most beautiful in Sri Lanka, I feel. Which I suppose every man must feel, if he feels. Cause every girl deserves that. Abandon. They’re lost now, memories in masturbation. I still see girls that turn my head on the street. I can settle, out of boredom or inebriation. I guess I do alright, whatever that means. But there’s always something you can’t touch. That teenage romance. That forbidden kiss in a parked car. Can’t touch. Anymore. Sometimes I want to get married just so that part of my brain will quit. Not a solution, but just an end to the problem. Steady sex until you grow too unattractive to care. Sometimes I just want more money and a better car.
When I look at girls now my eyes glaze. I see the layers of friends and relatives poised to make Facebook a living nightmare. I see the drama and your mama and I almost can’t bear to talk to you. This has a paradoxical effect of making me interesting to girls that couldn’t bore me more.
I can’t go anywhere without remembering the places I’ve been. Everything’s poignant, and poking me in the ribs. Since the scene died it’s closed in on itself, become incestuous. The NGO girls are gone, swept out by the tsunami of tstupid. The youth are all abroad, the adults are all married. Not to complain too much, I guess I do alright.
It’s just that I remember beauty, and I see it, around. And God knows, it shakes me still.