I don’t know what I’m mourning. A relationship that never existed. No, it did, in my mind. It was a fantastical construction of epic proportions. Was it all in my mind? Maybe, maybe not. The odds seem stacked against me. I can no longer deny that it was not all one-sided. There were actual signs in the physical world. It wasn’t a hallucination, I’m sure. Am I SURE? SURE? I don’t know anymore. I seek heaven for their heavenly advice. They dispense signs, signs of an ambiguous nature. I digress. I digress.
He didn’t just stare at me; he stared at me because he found me physically appetising. That was all. But the way he shot his furtive glances at me was not of a lustful nature. How can you be so sure? Because I know. When you know, you know. I’m a woman gifted with supreme intuition. I know when someone shoots lustful glances at me. They travel across my body; they transgress it as if they own it. He was different. Different in what sense? Those glances were of purity, of pure fixation, of pure admiration. They look away; they are of sanity. Yet I digress once again.
Am I of sound mind? I don’t know. I whipped up a portion of my disgust served on a cold dish. Vengeance is the consequential gift of love. You don’t like me in that way. Then why? Why hurt me? But wait! Doesn’t this pattern of behavior remind you of someone? Yes, yes. Please stand up and look in the mirror. Many moons ago, you did exactly the same. Giving mixed signals to someone while you yourself were in a stable situation. You are a hypocrite to the core. Aren’t you disgusted with yourself? You are a walking paradox writ large.
Please, please, just let it go. You got your just desserts too. You thought you were the only one doing something behind your beloved’s back? But wait, he wasn’t my beloved. The day he left me wringing in pain, in pure psychological trauma. In pain. Walking to that weird hospital. Your balance is due. It’s been paid. All accounts have been settled. Please, please, let it go. He inflicted a pain of no less severity on you than you did on him. It’s even. Wir sind quitt. Seriously. LET IT FUCKING GO. WILL YOU? How long are you going to torment yourself rehashing old laundry? Smelly old laundry. Like a putrefying egg. Rotten to the fucking core.
Why, why, why? Wasted another eight months of my precious life. But that’s probably only five seconds in light terms. Yet I digress.
Yes, mother, another bomb has dropped on Bahrain. What do I do? Be the good friend. Be the friend that you needed when you were young. Be the ideal friend. Be the friend. Stitch on that sympathetic smile. Inside you are dying. Dying but no, you must preserve your last shred of human dignity because that’s the good thing to do. Good thing. PROPER THING. Properly fucked. Five minutes left.
God, when will this suffering end? I’ve waited, waited so fucking long. My heart is reeking of pain. The thorns are overgrown. Please, God, help me. Deliver me from the pain. Heavenly Father, hallowed be thy name. Please, can someone just fucking help me? Oh, yes, the date, the date tonight will be another nosediving disappointment. Pornographic addictions. Side chicks hidden in the side seams. How on earth am I going to get through another evening pretending to be someone I’m desperately trying to become? A job? A made-up one? Oh, come on, get a fucking grip.
Three minutes. Nearly there. Please, please. Just let me fucking be. I’m at my wit’s end. God, please deliver me from this wretched state. Why, why, WHY! I’ve had enough. Please just help me, help me, help me, help me. Your prison is of your own making. Please. You’ve got the key. No, I don’t. It’s genetic. I’m genetically predisposed to be clinically depressed and anxious. Look at those around me. I see them. I see them for who they really are. Abandoned as much as I am. In need of salvation as much as I am. Please deliver them too. Deliver them from their pain that they keep hidden, tucked away in their recesses.
Ah, two minutes. When will this end? When will this world end? Apocalypse. Rain. Big bang. Supernova. Astronomical events beyond our control. I wish, I wish that I didn’t exist. But no, I must beat my own path. From stem to stern. No, not of the ship or the boat, but of my hearse. Hearse. Ebony black. My hearse is going to be ebony black. Made out of pine wood. Forever pining for non-existent love.
Oh! God, please deliver me from this wretched state. I no longer wish to exist on this material plane. Please allow me to ascend to heavenly realms. But wait, your sins? Wash away my sins. I’ve erred so miserably. Mired in my own ways. Seeking external validation.
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