All wrapped up in my own thoughts. Is there anything called freedom? Where you know the ground that you stand on, understand the decisions you plan on taking? I heard you saying, “we are the choices we make,” as you dragged your toe drawing patterns on the dusty floor. I suppose that you believed in what you said. Did you really give me a choice? I look around, I don’t see any options. Did they get lost in spring cleaning I did last year? Stale cheap perfume in the air mingles with perspiration.
“Oh, I did not notice it has been raining.” Perhaps, the right words to come out in a time like this. What has just happened? You pick up the phone and make an unnecessary unimportant call to maybe no one. My mind is a worthless mass of questions, most of which go unanswered. I pick up my clothes a little ashamed, trifle guilty, and fully unloved. You did not waste any time getting to the point, “you better get going, I have a con call.”
The edge of the bed is a currently a rather comforting place to sit. I can hear you in the bathroom, running water and sliding metal. Maybe, one day you’ll offer to take me out for a compensatory lunch, or who knows – even dinner, we can hold hands and gaze at the stars, maybe you’d switch on some of that: “What’s the story morning glory?” music.
You toss my blazer. Clumsily, I try to grab it, withdrawing what little I have left. Unlocking the door, you grab me for a quick kiss. And, I am out on the street walking with a purpose, back to work. The freshly washed streets glow and glisten.
From across, I can see your window, you have switched on more lights. A woman with a bright oversized sweater eyes me as she enters the building with the confidence of owning a key. I turn away trying to steady my beating heart.
A week later, I see your name glowing on my phone, “come over in the next 20, maybe?” I am ringing your doorbell, as you buzz me in my mind toys with the idea of a lunch, or dinner. The lift door opens to swallow me whole.