between you me and paris i find myself alone (again or)

It’s been three years or more and I still can’t get into it. An ordinary angel tossed about feeling disrespected and disillusioned. It’s a junkyard of false starts and reoccurring mistakes. I see reflections of the future in the cup of water. I’m not everything I am supposed to be.

The dog sits silently besides the window, watching rain fall and looking longingly at the leash. We haven’t been outside for days. I can handle this myself but why torture the dog? I grow tired of the dim-witted answers he barks back at me.

I think I can make it back after the end of the day. It’s a slow concept, reconciling myself with only my thoughts to bother me. I’ll try sleep, my body wanting independence from my brain. It’s a closeted process.

First I lay on the right, think of all the possibilities. Then I turn to the left and find all the faults I thought I could escape. On my back my mind is tormented with thoughts of both but then sudden it turns to Paris. In Paris, my mind tells me, you were happy. Europe knows disaster and I am not it. It is the country of cheese, wine and languages

In America I could never figure out what made you so unhappy. Pictures from countries before relapse in the safety of a pitch black mind. A condolence of regrets and remorse little the floor after the winter has past. Cliché, but your vulgar silence offends me. It’s all about what we did and didn’t do.

Instead of talking to me, your repetition and repletion of persecution surrenders to the pain of your mother’s guilt. The first half of my cigarette smoked itself. I cannot tell as you tell me over and over again to “finally show some goddamn emotion”. It was never about the high we discovered but more about the connection that I really craved. The remote memories come seeping back and place me in their righteous addiction.

I’m here today and they expect me to be tomorrow. Looking out at the substitute scene placed before me, I can’t see the future without knowing you now. Decomposition of found objects, shifting my weight from side to side. The main attraction was me, but I tried to pass it off as you. Hiding from the mic and looking in from the side.

In confidence I eagerly promised to stand and deliver. All in all I felt justified to take apart all what wasn’t right. Our versions of honesty are very skewed.