I slept through the best parts.
Of the movie?
Yes, I guess you could say that.
It all turned so sad so quickly like falling down cement stairs.
Did you close your eyes?
Of course, I did. But there were stars in the sky. And a blurred half-moon I took with me.
It’s okay to talk about the hurt. ‘
No one wants to hear.
You’re wrong. They do. They pretend not to be listening. They pretend disinterest but rubberneck toward your words. Towards you.
I thought I would be better by now.
Better at what?
All of it. Better at me. It’s an ongoing project, you know. I’m tired of it. Bored even. But odd. Un-usefeul at times. Pain should be useful, no? To someone or something?
You need to have some fun, go for a walk, do something definitive. Shred paper. The Mobius strip isn’t going to go anywhere, so either enjoy its curves & gravity or take a drive toward the boardwalk & watch people. Get out of your head.
But there is so much dust. It covers everything. It’s in my eyes, my lungs, my fingernails. All the wet cloths dry.
You can paint over the dirt. Layer it in a museum. It shouldn’t concern you. Bother you so much.
Is this enough?
It doesn’t have to be.
It’s a game, no?
Yes, a game. Actually a series of games. A matter of degrees, gradations, iterations. Pick and choose. Lighten up. Here’s your paintbrush.
I wasn’t expecting you.
I know. You needed a visit. I knew you’d be like this again.
Yes, I just needed to sleep some more or not sleep some more. To fight it off or not fight but play dead or beholden.
The others worry.
They needn’t. They do not understand. You don’t either. It’s okay. You know that.
If it stops hurting, call me. I worry. Here is the book you asked for. The sea-feather pen. Go on now. People are busy. Don’t expect so much. Be grateful. It all goes back to Plato, doesn’t it?
The Allegory of the Cave? No, Playdo.
The hole in your stomach will go away. I’m sorry it burns your eyes & hands when you touch things. Don’t be bitter. Sing more.