I tried to talk to you, ask you about your history, connect with you on a different level, ask you things—sometimes you would answer and you spoke. I would listen so intently, when you spoke.
How did you know?
Did you ask someone, or did you do everything to me based on a suggestion that I might have been an answer or a prayer? No, you thought I was an error, and that I didn’t want to be you. You told me your address and wanted me to be there, for your shame became mine, because you knew I’d turn up and flood the lights, drown the memory, open the gates and cause a storm—this part you knew.
I have lost time suddenly, amidst an escape from you, doing everything to me that I never wanted—forgetting what I needed, running from what happened, and it all shaped me into you.
It doesn’t matter how many envelopes I have mistakenly opened, they all lead to you.
I am, nothing wrapped up in a surprise gathering or sweetened look and feel—I am, something so small, so insightful and yet insignificant, and I’ve landed here—and I’ve never asked why, because I’m supposed to be “Happy”.
It is the synthesis, the snake in the grass, the sounds of forget and allow. A past glare—it already took my left eye—now I’m staring down the barrel of a gun when I thought it was supposed to be over.
Whose hand is about to hold the trigger this time?.
I’m not making any sense because there’s nothing to say. And you are not the reason for the fall, no, I can’t even give you that—but it turns out, I’m just like you.
I am writing the footnote. I ask no one anymore as it’s the same thing everyday, and it is the same shit which covers my eye—on a platter, made from my memories, which no matter what I do, are there.
Yeah, I’m Pissed off. And maybe that’s why I’m nowhere.
So the dead horse has been awakened; I sit here—I can’t fucking move. Nothing. And I have everything I wanted.
How does the mind bend into this, and why am I not here anymore? I found the keys—they were in the grass, beside the snake, the envelopes, and no surprises.
If you think I’m asking to be forgiven, think again. If you think I care what you’re doing now, you’re probably right—as last night, I was walking through South Street, and it’s something you wanted, so I rode my bike and bought you some cigarettes.
That was a time I had reprieve, and I would ride my bike with no hands, racing down that hill as dangerously fast as I could. The man at the shop asked me how old I was. I said, “I am Seven”. He always gave me a bag of lollies and disapproved of me doing this errand for you and wanted to report you—but I took my time and walked home, after sitting under a tree and eating the free bag of lollies. I opened the new pack of Dunhill Red for you because I was late. I smelled the tar and pulled out your first cigarette and I lit it for you. This was the only time you were calm.
I tried to talk to you, ask you about your history, tried to connect with you on a different level, tried to ask you things. Sometimes, you would answer—and you spoke. I would listen so intently when you spoke.
I was only seven; I could see you, you didn’t want me to. You hated me, you asked me to just go away. I wasn’t coming undone; I wasn’t confused, angry or frustrated. I wasn’t afraid of you, and all that angered you.
I just wanted to know you.
(First published in Tiger Leaping Fusion)