While waiting, I become obsessed with observing
the many possibilities: maybe she forgot her small
suitcase on the train, and my address got lost
and her mobile phone got lost, so she lost her appetite
and said: No share of the light drizzle for him /
Or maybe she got busy with an urgent matter or a journey
to the south to visit the sun, and called
but didn’t find me in the morning, because
I had gone to buy some gardenia for our evening
and two bottles of wine /
Or maybe she was in dispute with her ex-husband
over matters of memory, and she swore not to see
another man who might threaten her with making memories /
Or maybe she crashed into a taxi on the way
to see me, which extinguished some planets in her galaxy.
And she is still being treated with tranquilizers and sleep /
Or maybe she looked in the mirror before going out
of herself, felt two large pears
making waves on her silk, then sighed and hesitated:
Does anyone else other than myself deserve my womanhood /
Or maybe she ran, by coincidence, into an old
love she hadn’t healed from, and joined him for dinner /
Or maybe she died,
because death loves suddenly, like me,
and death, like me, doesn’t love waiting
I am tired of Earth. These people. I am tired of being caught in the tangle of their lives.
You know how when you’re listening to music playing from another room? And you’re singing along because it’s a tune that you really love? When a door closes or a train passes so you can’t hear the music anymore, but you sing along anyway… then, no matter how much time passes, when you hear the music again, you’re still in exact same time with it. That’s what it’s like.
- Where do you go when you're feeling down?
- To wherever you are.
I want to stop messing around and sort out my priorities and save more money than I spend and get a house and pay the bills and cook meals that take more than heating something for about ten minutes and worry about home improvements and maybe get a mortgage and a landline and clean every Saturdays and do the laundry on Sundays and fight over what to watch on the television and shout at you to pick up after yourself and tell you to take the trash out and have a heart attack from anxiety when your parents come to visit and get extra keys made and hide them in strategic spots around the lawn and quit drinking and be kinder and ask about your day and worry when you come home late but not argue with you about it and learn to share my personal space and have a serious discussion about maybe having kids and ponder how big a responsibility that would be and never want to disappoint you but know that you’ll always have my back and sing love songs in the shower and not go snooping through your phone or your computer and learn to get along even with your stupidest friends and open a joint savings account for our retirement and smile at you over breakfast every morning and genuinely want you to have a good day but be ready to listen when you’ve had a terrible day and not make know-it-all suggestions that would only make you feel worse and hope this is going to work out just fine and try really, really hard to make it work but when it doesn’t, then I’ll let you go and wish you the best because you honestly made a difference in my life and I became a bit of a better person because I loved you and you loved me.
I love you. You’re perfect. Now change.