The morbid daydream starts like this. I enter the house through the big cedar doors, feel the warmth coming from the inside as the windows let the sun in. I would walk through every room, looking up at the sky through the skylight on the hall, slide my hand through every giant wall. I turn left and I can picture what the kitchen would’ve looked like on a Sunday morning, I can hear the laughter, I can smell the pancakes. There you are, all of you, I picture you happy, I picture you calm.
It would all seem perfect, but the delusion wouldn’t last very long, I would be back to the windowless home, all alone. Without the possibility to ever turn back time, to all the promises and all the plans. I would feel the knives in my gut as I look at the space you designed for me with such care, such love, how now is so empty, how I regret that I’ll never be able to make it seem whole.
I would crawl to the bathroom, bend my head to the floor, ask for your forgiveness and thank you for all the love. I will always thank you for all the love. Now looking back everything seems so ethereal. It was too good to last or too good for us to make it work. I know I might not be worthy of going to heaven, but without you here I don’t have a home, I am made to feel so low. You would never need to worry about me anymore, you would never get to know.
The sharpness of the venerated object, how everything turns beatific when you need it that much. The only thing more precious to me than my own veins, my own life. I know every petal in me would gladly pour out of my skin, painting everything with color, bringing it to life.
Every room would fill to the brims. For an instance it would all exist, I’d be able to grasp it all. The creaky wooden floors, the fire warming up every room. The beautiful view of the city through the trees. A family all gathered in. The full bar and the books, the fish swimming happily in their pond.
As the last petal drained from my body, I would no longer be in the cold empty floor, I would be in my bed, cozily falling asleep. No regrets, because this is the only way I could’ve brought everything back to life. The only way I could’ve felt it.
I’d be sure to wake up in the next life, the one where we get to do everything right, the one where you don’t suffer, the one where I don’t ever lose you. We’ll get to do everything right, no worries, this was only a draft, a poorly executed sketch, we’ll do better next time. The light in my eyes losing focus, going down, but I can already hear the birds chirping on the other side, everything is blurry, but it’s fine.
eclectic book talk 