August 30, 2010

letter from the universe

There are things we wanted to tell you but we just couldn't. We wanted to, trust us. We want nothing more than to keep you ignorant to any and all sorts of harrowing truths and incidents. By alerting you to the events that were soon to come, it would in fact disrupt the very trajectory of said proceedings. 
But rest assured, you will have taken it in the very same way. You will feel the same as you do now, even if you had rehearsed a genuine reaction let alone taken the initiative to form one. Besides, we've saved you a fair amount of anticipatory grief, which when you think about it is really always the worst part. 

However, now we are here to remove your bandages swiftly and without prejudice. We've been slinking around the pockets of your peripheral vision, convincing you of latent deja vu and blanketing you with the sort of soft and fuzzy colors and filters that cushion the blow of such delayed realizations. 
That sometimes you will not be coming out on top. That everything leading up to this moment now and here is almost entirely your fault. That you walked into this-- nay, pranced even. You couldn't wait to wrap your mouth around this impending disaster. To have your fill. Well.
Now, we don't mean to be mean. We know that you are quite cross with us, especially as of late. Despite your inclination to think that we are in fact against you, that could not be further from the truth. We may remain neutral in how we tip the scales, but trust that we are completely in your favor. 
 



This is what I would think about when I was underground. This remarkable and improbable pattern. It had knitted its parasitic lifeline into my sorry gut, like some umbilical connection to my uncertain intuition. The trouble was it just did not present itself as a respectable authority figure. It nagged and tugged but it didn't raise its voice and so I never bothered to listen. The hum of an approaching train was louder than this. Snowfall was louder than this. When he blinks at me it is far louder than this.

I'm staring at the graphic rococo pattern on my duvet and I am beginning to resent it. I've been staring so hard it is carving its negative behind my eyelids when I shut them. I am staring very hard at the space between us. This entire time I had been trying to fill it and right here and right now it's become quite clear that I'm not enough to do so. 

I use to own this space. Now it's a milky desert of white noise and mercury. I'm turning around beside myself and I am having a rather difficult time talking to you when I've actually just discovered that I don't exist. Not to you anyway, not anywhere outside of right here. I am surprisingly serene at this recognition. But I'm finding it harder to see a reason why I should bother.

I listen to you itemizing the entirety of our interactions and it's shocking to me remembering that I was there. How could I have been? I'm not real. I could be angry with this. But the small ferocity is duly slain once I hear you say it out in the open, caught only half off guard. Whatever happens I hope things can remain positive between us. It feels like poaching elephants to hear you say it. This should be illegal. It's bad enough I'm having an existential meltdown in front of our eyes but now it's my turn to talk.

It makes it easier to admit what I hate to hear myself say. I tell you what a real girl in a real situation would say. I even believe it, at least for the next 12 hours or so. I spend the next few days fantasizing about what it would be like to be real to you. To fill the space between us and to know how to do this right next time.
It would be nice for once not to feel the need to. It would be nice not to live with the same ghosts every night.

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