Tuesday, June 18, 2013

the room for poetry

she drove the car off the cliff, something she had always wanted to do, but -until this moment -never had the chance. as the car sailed over the edge, the list of all the things she was missing ran through her mind: trash bags, water filters, tissues. 

was this the sum of an entire life?

every time she was in the grocery store, the thought would run through her mind:  how pointlessly quotidian this all is. there would be 50 varieties of something; none of them good. 

she had the same thought at the airport, or in the train station, or wherever she was surrounded by a milling mass of ugly people, all dressed differently but looking the same: so much ugliness.

she'd been dinged for this once; told she was mean. people nowadays -they were so soft. everyone wanted to think that they were special, or pretty, or smart -but they weren't. she really was, so she knew better, but she mostly kept these thoughts to herself, especially where children and pets were concerned. people could really lose their minds when certain truths about their progeny were pointed out to them.

when she came home, she asked him what he wanted for dinner, but he was already cooking and neither of them were hungry. he vanished into another room rather than sit at the table across from her. she didn't particularly care. 

there was a shelf very high up and hard to reach in his mind where he kept certain things. she knew it was there, but never looked; she knew what he kept there. the times when she would rummage about in his mind looking for something, she would always come back hurt and feeling a little bit less -and yet more confident too.

it was always better to know.

she couldn't build the tower without it, and she was always building. it was really for herself; she just wanted him in it, where she could hear the echoes of his words against the glass walls, and the whole world could watch, and yet never really know what was in it.

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