The Topless Towers of Ilium*
In book one of the Aeneid, Aeneus, the hero, finds himself wandering on a strange shore. He is searching for supplies for his crew and in his search finds a temple. The temple has paintings depicting his own adventures. The last of these paintings depicts the burning of Troy, his home.

You remember seeing him across the room at the party, and thinking he was attractive, but you were so over men, you couldn't take another disappointment so there was no point in even looking, but then you find him sitting next to you telling you that you look like a woman from out of another century and even though it is cliche, you find it charming, although it could just be the second glass of wine. And the third. And you remember that he was a afraid to touch you and how glad you were, because he should be afraid.

You remember the first time you meet him at the arch at Washington Square, and he says "Hello beautiful" and how childishly pleased you are by that simple salutation.

You remember how after three beers ,he announces in the bar abruptly, "I want to fuck you" and how embarassed you were, but also how impressed you were by how unashamed he was.

You remember the first time he sees you naked. How he makes you undress for him and how this scares you too. How afraid you are to be a disappointment and how much pleasure he takes in your body.

You remember walking with him, hand in hand, under the cherry blossoms as he curses the six year old children harmlessly playing and thinking, "No matter how this ends, it will not end well for me."

You remember that he never looked behind him after he said good night to you.

You remember the first time he disappoints you by not sending you a postcard.

You remember the deals that you start to make with yourself, the things you can sacrifice (flowers, postcards, jewelry) the things you don't need, because this is the price of being close to genius.

You remember that he took you to the beach, the only man to ever take you to the beach, and how tan and happy you were when you returned.

You remember that he opened up so many new things for you it was like going to sleep in your bed and waking up on a different planet and this frightened you too because he didn't strike you as the most reliable tour guide-the type of guide who would distractedly lead you into nostil high leech and crocodile infested waters and suddenly leave you there.

You remember feeling so close to him that at times it wasn't like looking at another person, but into a mirror.

You remember the first time you change yourself for him, and he doesn't even appreciate it.

You remember the first time you see his bathroom and knowing that you will never ever live this man.

You remember watching him as he lay sleeping and realizing that for the first time you have become use to sleeping with someone and thinking "This is a very bad thing."

You remember the list of reasons for being with him getting shorter and shorter, until it's just one little voice in the back of your head no louder than a mouse's whisper and it just says one word "Maybe" and on the strength of that word, you stay.

You remember the first time you hold him up to your friends for ridicule.

You remember thinking that maybe you are going to be one of those great artistic couples who have a terrible relationship, but its ok because you push each other to make better and better art.

You remember being proud that even though all of your friends tell you to go, you are crazy enough to stay.

You remember every time you wanted to tell him you loved him and you didn't.

You remember that he was the master of the unconventional compliment.

You remember that when you finally did tell him you loved him, the first man in years to hear the phrase, he said "Thank you for telling me that."

You remember that even then you weren't going to leave if for no other reason than you weren't going to be the one who quit.

You remember that he argued with you about if you were really happy because he is the only person to have the balls to argue with you about your own emotional state.

In the end, you remember that now you are just another ex-girlfriend story or maybe you aren't even important enough for that maybe you're just a commercial break or a footnote.

In the end, you remember that you are going to miss the man you thought he was not the one he really is.

In the end, you remember that he wasn't different or special that he's just like every other man you weren't good enough for.

In the end, you remember that he called you a bitch, even though he was the one leaving you.

After he's gone, you remember that the good thing about an all tylenol pm and alcohol diet is that you will finally lose those ten pounds you gained when the last idiot left you.The bad news is this isn't the type of pain that you dream or drink or sleep away.

After he's gone, you remember deciding to eliminate all trace of him from your apartment and realizing all that comes down to is changing the sheets and throwing out six beer bottles.

And after everything, you remember Aeneus dirty, tired, starving, standing on the shorteof an unknown country searching for food for his crew and coming across a painting of everything that he lost. His wife, his father, his friends, his home. The topless towers of Ilium burned to the ground leaving only ashes and human remains and their glory only exists in this man, this painting, and a couple of epic poems which will be used to torture high school students for the next 2,500 years. And the Gods take mercy on Aeneus and remind him that he was born to found the city which will become the seat of the greatest civilization the world has ever seen. And Aeneus turns away from one invisible city and towards another, while you, who are not a hero, remain transfixed by the image of your loss.
*Originally this was intended to be a monologue that I was going to perform last night at Collective Unconscious for their open mic night. I have had one of the worst weeks in recorded history and instead of being a whining mulling piss ant about it I decided to gird up my loins (as directed by the Lord in Exodus) and imitate one of my favorite author's Philip Roth. I was going to use great pain to make hopefully great art, and in the process redeem at least a small part of my existence. But in the getting fucked by life department I reign supreme as the Lord's favorite rape victim, and after working on this monologue for three days I found out the open mic was cancelled. I am working on recording this as an MP3 and uploading it because I think since it was originally intended as a spoken piece, it works much better that way. For now, this version will have to suffice.

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