Page 17 - Demo

I was standing still, somehow stumbling but fearful to do so because falling is a dangerous thing.
Amongst good feelings. Amongst the ups and the downs. Time shoots o like a bullet, released by the trigger and sometimes able to pierce through things before becoming lodged far o from the barrel. The glowing signs became the main attraction when taking my hand became a routine.
My lips pursed when you did because there was nothing to say.
I couldn’t think of where I’d placed my pineapple earrings or when I’d worn them last.
Between all of the good, there was anger and hurt and wishing I could shut myself away somewhere.
We lingered for those sparse moments when we could smile, shake our heads, and sit peacefully at breakfast, me in that Bon Jovi t-shirt and bare feet, you in that button-up and blue tie. I made the toast, and you made the eggs, but I went through the drive-through when I left for work forty minutes later.
Sometimes I went for walks on my own; when you accompanied me, I found myself needing relief from our silence and space from being nearly shoul- der-to-shoulder as if we were in the military.
I threw a vase once—not at you, but not because I thought there would be something to salvage when the pieces went ying. It was a force of habit, perhaps. Or
because I was waiting for our walks to become some- thing more than a death march.
It became apathy because we had nowhere else to go.
“I’ll see you later.” “Will you?”
“I don’t know.”
Immobile and waning, whether because we both knew or because I was tired, you made me feel like a child, but only in the worst of ways.
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