Man On The Moon

Through no fault of his own there were just some things he could not emotionally grasp. When he felt a particular emotion that he found unpleasant it generally manifested as anxiety. If, with the emphasis on if, he let himself sit with the emotion for long enough he would figure it out sooner or later. Usually later. It took him six weeks to understand a feeling he was having in his heart. It was a breaking, soon to be broken heart. He experienced the physical pain, describing it as his heart being run through a table saw. Jagged, raw and festering he let that pain carry on in there, creating an anxiety state that was too extreme for him to navigate. He emotionally checked out as a result. He wasn't a creature that operated based on emotion, he was an intelligent and logical person. His mind got the better of him and it shut his heart down and out. I'd like to believe his condition was to blame, it makes it easier to understand. He was a man on the spectrum on a mission where reason and simplicity trumped emotions and passion. It was safer that way, he was a man on the moon and all things out of his orbit of understanding were dismissed. The world was there to serve him and entitlement was a luxury he could afford. If he wanted a couch to sit on, he did. Things, like people were his to use and play with, then discard when he no longer felt thrilled. He used me like a couch, there to serve a purpose and to please him, and I was a man he could come over and sit on anytime it was convenient for him. Sometimes he would sit on my face before he sat on my crotch. Then he'd go home.