What is normal? Am I? There is a fine line between pain and happiness. I’m happy but I’m in some kind of pain. All I can see is the multicolored silk pillows on the couch. I want to live on this couch, maybe forever. I want to die on this couch, with these pillows hiding my face.
The vase on the shelf is not broken yet, it’s blue bird design still lives because I have not broken it, yet. I want to be in this room, really be here. I don’t want to think, think about how badly the wooden elephants want to be free.
I have been in this room before. I have been in here with you. You were all I could see then. I am alone now with the maroon velvet easy chair and the windows, so many windows. Where to look out to? What is the world anyways?
I remember your shoelaces, they were not any particular color, maybe they were white. You started running in the mornings, I thought maybe you were running away from me.
Do you remember we spoke on the phone on Christmas Eve? You were alone, you weren’t totally drunk , you weren’t sober either. You were weepy. I was there.
What was that Adele song you played for me when you made me a pork chop dinner? You said it sang to your heart. Did I ever sing to your heart?
You were never driven by sex, you were the alternative to the men who tried to rape me. I asked you what your dirtiest fantasy was and you said you wanted to fuck a ballerina. You deserve a red rose for that one baby.
You mentioned once about a garden you wanted in your backyard where you could make love to your wife. You said the word wife. Who will be your wife? Will she be your wife?
I knocked over my glass of beer and shattered the glass. You got angry for a second. The next time I did that you laughed. These are the things you should remember. I remember the scowl on your face, then the smile.
You don’t make me happy. You make me sad. That’s what I think I want: to be sad.
Are you mad?
Because I am.
I’m lonely. I am alone.
I need you to be me for a moment.
When there’s two of us feeling this, it won’t be as real anymore.
The ache in the back of my throat.
Where are you now? Are you happy with her?
I look at you, in the mirror, which one of us is me?
Only when I don’t cry do I not know myself.