Have you ever formed a bond with someone because you and them were feeling the same things, going through the same things and loving the same things and the same people? I mean the bond was so strong that you felt that you and this person, no matter what happened and who happened, you’d always be similar, familiar, and connected all at the same time and for always? You took up for them. You trusted them. You empathized and felt badly for them and every time your phone rang you’d pick up and even when the phone didn’t ring you’d wait for it to ring so you could pick up.
The bond was a united front in your eyes, one that couldn’t be broken, not even when your small circle of friends and family warned you to beware. The bond was solid like Gorilla glue, Elmer’s glue and Krazy glue rolled into one hot sticky mess. The bond was new and deep and born out of an abnormally high tendency to prolong the inevitable heartbreak that would eventually throw you off balance making you fall backwards and hit your head awakening in yet another alternate universe wondering what happened. When did it all turn? Weren’t we friends, lovers, husband and wife? Didn’t we victim bond, our hearts entwined in heartbreak and disaster? When did it all go south?
Why did it take a sixteen-year-old to say, “Never trust snakes?” LOL. Huh? LOL. Jokes on me. My gullible, trusting, overwhelming need-to-know nature set me up for another truth. Snakes slither about and will probably stay at bay until an unsuspecting victim turns her back, drops her guard, and lets it in. Once in, it gains the knowledge needed to strike . . . subtly at first it ventilates, cries, bonds, laughs, jokes, bonds even more and confides in you. Then it stealthily slithers behind your back and goes in for the kill.
The thing is . . . that kill it got? It was sour and rotten through and through and will eventually make that skanky, sneaky yet gullible, so-friggin-in-love reptile sick.
