#literatire

“There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.” ― Bram Stoker, Dracula

My best friend says that one day I’ll grow accustomed to living without you, but I’ll chalk her advice up to wishful thinking, to her tired eyes trying to hold interest in me repeating the same stories of us. I tell myself that one day I will grow accustomed to leaving work on Friday and not feeling disappointed that you won’t be sitting on the couch when I walk through the front door. I am still looking for a safe space to put down all the words rotting in my head. I am looking for a way to explain that I was falling in love with you without coming right out and saying that I was falling in love with you. There must be some way to get the weight off my chest without altering my life, your life, our intricately woven lie.

We wait. We are bored. (He throws up his hand.) No, don't protest, we are bored to death, there's no denying it. Good. A diversion comes along and what do we do? We let it go to waste. Come, let's get to work! (He advances towards the heap, stops in his stride.) In an instant all will vanish and we'll be alone more, in the midst of nothingness!

The neighbors seemed pleased when the babies smothered. Probably because the mint green Cadillac in which they died had annoyed them for some time.

And so pass the hours of sweet satisfaction (Are they hours, or brief seconds?) swift winged fragments of the future that cast no perceptible shadow as they hurtle past and dissolve into lingering memory. These fragile moments they would hold forever, a light against the gloom of mundane duration, slip through their fingers and leave them only echoes of their passing.