Heavy lids, liquid lids; lower lids that resemble a cupped leaf in the rain
It’s our first night together
We’ve known about each other for a while and even with this intimate knowledge I still grasp to the edge of reality
Will I have a psychotic break?
I’m mental; I’ve been asking for lemon bars all night
Bang bang bang, just like a desperate game show participant, I pound on the button
My tongue is swollen from yelling, from screaming and from talking myself off the ledge
Why am I so obsessed with the lemon bars?
It’s probably because the needle was unexpected; the pain was unfathomable
This room is not comforting either, it’s a blend of speckled creams and beiges
Ugly
There is one perfectly square window that floats over the roofline which blocks any decent view
It starts to snow huge puffy clumps that stick to it…my solitary madness continues to unfold
I can’t walk but I’m flying high as I come back to reality, back to life and into the awareness that he is mine
He. Is. Mine.
His perfectly round silhouette peeks out of a thick muslin wrap from behind a type 3 plastic box
I stare at him as he sleeps, and I begin to imagine his life unfolding in both joyous and spectacular ways
Finally, I see him in a rocking chair, he’s 100 years old. Where am I? Who loves him? Who is taking care of him?
Sigh
Heavy lids, liquid lids, lower lids that resemble a cupped leaf in the rain