scribble
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I will let you down.
He sits alone in the dark. His rounded body is drowned in distorted velvet fabrics as deep and rich as blood—my blanket. He holds a gray diet coke can in one hand and pretty much sits like a Homer Simpson, with tired, half-lidded eyes gazing at a bright screen. I'm standing by the entrance door watching him. He's so lucky he has someone like me caring for him—worrying about him. He's so lucky.
"Fuck this…"
His voice is rigid, graveled with monotonousness—too sturdy to belong to someone so fragile like himself. My enemy, my lover: Humpty Dumpty.
I slither on the walls until I am only centimeters away from the arm of the couch. He still doesn't notice me and I feel a storm of unfailing tears. I reach for his hard-shelled head and stroke it gently. He doesn't feel it. He doesn't feel anything anymore.
I gaze into those large, dark brown eyes—large dark eyes of my enemy, my lover.
Then I grab the remote that sits in-between his skinny thighs and switch the television off. I switch the world off to a hush.
This is the way I love you. This is the way I hate you.
He looks up at me, quirking his eyebrows. "What the fuck! That was Jay Leno you switched off!"
I said I feel a storm of unfailing tears. And I'm not sure they're on my side, but you always know where they go after they've dried on my scars.
"…" There's nothing more I can say. All I can say has been buried in what I did—like a needle lost in a sea of hay.
And maybe I don't feel anything. Maybe I just made this all up. Maybe I'm too selfless.
And then I do it, I stand there and he watches my face wrinkle like a raisin and redden as the storm reigned—My storm of unfailing tears.
"Pála. Pála, stop crying."
I bite my lip. He's getting frustrated.
"Why the fuck are you crying!"
I take a deep breath and try to throw away the sobs, but my heart is disturbed with poison—my love is like this for you, my love is dangerous, my love is wrong.
"Stop, just stop—" My words are forced and gobbled by my sobs.
"Stop what! You stop crying, bitch!"
A sharp gasp and another gobbled syllable. "Stop doing this—"
I love you, but do you love me?
And my love is like this.
scribble