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"and they lived happily ever after." but the truth is, it only applies to two people in the story. between the spaces of each word, are the many other bodies we once felt the presence of. if each person's consciousness is like a giant memory foam pillow, then the indents of the past never quite leave us. who lived happily ever after? you? me? and who stood at the other end of the unspoken spectrum, always looking, but never speaking, or never looking, and always speaking? two came together and it was beautiful, and now at another table in another room, a chair is empty, and where there were two there is only one. what is the cost of each indent? and what have we left behind in another? across the table there is a dent but no pressure. across the table there is memory but no future. across the table there is only projected something that became nothing when the door shut pathetically in a tension of sorrys and nots that only told the one left behind departure with no return. there is no good bye. and perhaps on the other side of the door, the one who left finally let out the breath held in and self-inflicted, all the while fighting a desire to go back in. perhaps the one who left sat on the floor for a while, and if only the door had opened, it would have been alright. perhaps the two will always be a three and in the middle of the night when it is most peaceful there will be one awake, a hand resting in the middle of a huge hole in memory foam. Labels: musing |