journal · poetry · prose

Congenial Conversation

I turned away and wiped the smile from my face. It wasn’t funny and I suddenly felt guilty. guilty. guilty. Now my heart is beating through my back and I’m so tired I can’t even breathe. Or think to speak. But if I spoke, what would my words be worth? A moment of clarity ready to be erased by a lifetime of regret, or something else that I can’t think of. And we always stay the same, though we are always changing. Changing colors, clothes, and sizes. Fooled by the fairy tales told to us in childhood, saying, “there’s someone out there just for you. True happiness is there, and that is waiting for you too.” But they never told us that life isn’t like a story, and what you think you’ve got forever is always stripped away, for some reason or another. So we keep on building our castles in cloudy, lonely skies, sun-top high, but I don’t mind the clouds. ‘Cause when the rain washes down, it elutriates the guilt. Makes my castle pure, but for a moment. One pure moment in a lifetime of sickness. In a lifetime of doubt filled with shame. I bear this pain now, but it’s okay. I’ve worn it for so long that it’s become a part of me. Like an outfit made of chains, it matches my identity. Helps to make me, me – bound but free. Not who I want to be, but at least it makes me somebody. Too many rhymes to match these too many burdens. Or maybe they aren’t burdens but I really can’t tell. It doesn’t matter anyways, it never did. I’ll just tie my hands behind my back and sit. Sit like a good girl and wait for my death. Or perhaps just wait for something interesting to happen. So, so long, goodnight, and goodbye. This visit has been nice and I’m temporarily relieved. Not really. But you can think that if it makes you feel better. Because as long as you’re okay, I’ve got a lovely excuse for living. Now you’ll have to excuse me, I really must be going.

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