I see you. I see you sitting there in the corner pretending to work on your computer secretly hoping to have someone do something as small as a greeting. You show a disinterested face to mask your feelings of loneliness and depression. Though many are fooled by your facade, I see that something is slowly devouring your soul. I just want you to know that you are not the only one, if you think you are you are being fooled by others. In a society where talking about emotions and mental health are taboo it is expected to make people feel like they are alone in a crowd when there are in fact others sharing your journey
It was the tail end of a global recession and I was overeating. It was at the bottom of hitting bottom and I was having trouble sleeping. The weather sucked worse that TV sitcoms and I was sick of the gray and the rain. I see people crossing paths and I question their love for each other. I see couples dwelling in their houses and I wonder how their love dynamics work. It was the beginning of the recovery and I was increasing my water intake. I was crossing things off of my to-do list and thinking about my future. It was the start of something special and strangers were walking around me unbuttoning their coats. There was a star ascending the stairs, and I was there staring at the stars.
I come into the room and start undressing, searching for things in my closet.
'How was your day?' her voice echoes the room.
'You're not really there, you're just a piece of my imagination.'
'And if i am just a piece of your thought, it is still Your thought. You thought of me. And want me. Come lay with me, like in the days you had me over for coffee. Those chilly days when you called me and said i should come over. And i came every time, and you brewed me coffee. And we sat and sat and told each other whatever crossed our minds.'
'Those nice old days.'
'Those days when your worries didn't pile up and touch the sky. Those days when you carried me in your thought and i carried you in mine. Those days when we used to lay in your bed for hours and hours, just staring at the ceiling and thinking of things. Why don't you call me over anymore?'
'Because i missed it. I missed my chance. I had it and i lost it. I'll never be yours now. Come. Lay with me. Like in the good days.'
'Like when i had you over for coffee'.
Few things have consumed me more than the obsession I've had to know more about Beth Hurley. It is hard to say why she interested me so much in the first place. She's beautiful, undoubtedly so; but so are dozens of other girls I see on a daily basis. In fact, now that I think about it, it certainly wasn't her beauty alone - it was something else. It was her simplicity, I think. It was the matter-of-factly manner in which every word that came out of her mouth was spoken. It was the way her eyes teased me, revealing just enough to rouse my curiosity, never enough to fully satisfy it. It was as though there were unspoken thoughts and abandoned feelings inside of her, both of which added many more dimensions to her beauty, and it was upon my job to find those out and make her even more beautiful than she already was.
Marge is in her hammock sipping tea, slowly drifting into sleep. Fe'tid the spider is slowly descending to the street. G-pa the Raccoon is shuffling through the alley, sniffing for some meat. He’s been shot with pellets, clipped by a Chevy Malibu, and struck by lightning, so don’t even begin to bitch and complain about the toils of your daily burden. Marge is sound asleep now, unaware of the buzzing bees around the garden post. She is lightly snoring, dreaming about being on a rowboat in the middle of the ocean. She has no paddles and is worried about how she is going to get her mortgage paid if nobody finds her. In her dream she has no imperfections. Her skin is silky smooth, like corporate fabric. She awakens to the sound of children laughing.