She says we’re ready to take it to the
next level.
A life after the one we have now.
She says she gets lonelier every day that I walk into my room and look at her.
Sometimes it’s a quick,
fearful glance.
As if she reminded me of when my
goldfish died,
parents divorced,
girlfriend broke up with me,
or whatever it was
that made her climb the rafters
a little while ago.
Sometimes it’s a long,
pondering gaze.
Maybe today is the day?
Or will tomorrow be better?
She says she lusts for the texture of the
skin on my neck,
wants to feel me in her arms,
grasp me like there’s no tomorrow.
She says she enjoys the lengthy midnight talks we have when I sit down beside her,
always in the same
old
wooden chair.
She says my friends and family don’t like her.
Whenever I mention her at dinner,
their faces always become more
pale and thinner.
She says she feels bad when I cry,
claiming she can make all my problems vanish forever,
and all I have to do is let her
wrap her arms around me
and hangout with me
for a minute
or an hour.
I tell her I miss the feel of her around my throat.
So I look straight through her and say:
Today is the day,
my friend.