I don’t believe in fairy tales, and me asking you to get drinks after not talking for 4 weeks is as disappointing to you as the blood in the toilet is to me, that primitive stupid part of biology, the part I have to perpetually hide and live with, and I don’t want it and I am fair because I am aware of that part of myself.
I tried …
and this lateness though logically nothing,
it brewed in me
became the idea that you may have also given up on finding something real and decided to try with someone who’s wrong for you.
Given up like falling so hard you knock out, you wake up in a hospital bed and everything is red, and all you hear is tinnitus and your own heart beating 160 time per minute, and the crazy girl from work who got you fired feels like heaven
the boy from college who still stalks you feels like heaven
the old man who hit on you at a bar when you were alone feels like heaven
the lady who couldn’t chew with her mouth closed was sitting by you witnessing the misery of coughing up blood you won’t remember having coughed up in the next ten minutes, flailing for pain killers from nurses who don’t care
she’s heaven too
Given up, the last thing we would have had in common before a storm of pretending and mirroring in an effort to potentially be parents to an imaginary child that might me redemption for everything our parents did wrong.
Anthropological Magical Realism 