You & Me

by Tal Bauer

Failure lived inside me like an organ. I could feel it pumping alongside my heart. Keeping me alive, even when I didn’t want it to.

If I could find it, maybe I could cut this pulsing mass out of me that kept fucking everything up. But if I could cut my failure out, would there be anything left of me?

“None of us do. Being a parent is like driving a car without brakes. You grip the wheel and hold on tight, pray you don’t crash too hard.”

A sketch wouldn’t be able to hold this man, I thought. He’d burst right out of the page if I tried.

“You are the gradations of undiscovered colors in my soul. You are the inhale before my blank canvas, the moment before my pencil touches the page. You are the manifestation of my dreams. You are my intensity.”

“If we do this, we need to go slowly,”

“I’m kind of a starfish when I like someone.”

if he found his father facedown, knees spread, ass up, working a dildo into his virgin ass.

“I think,” he began, “you’re the man I was dreaming about.” Another kiss, folded into my hand. “You’re the man I dreamed about all those years ago when I was struggling to find myself. You’re him. You’re the man I’ve been searching for my whole life.”