There is such distance in closeness. You’re on the nearby adjoining couch. Yes, just one swoop of your left arm and you would be hitting my elbow.
What color is my room?
As the cinder block, which holds the two story home, crashes to the ground, it miraculously falls right between the two women sitting on it.
No damage done? Well let’s see. Yes, no, everything seems to be okay. The woman to the right, who was reading a Jodi Picoult classic, continues to read. Hmm, well that was interesting. She really appears to be unfazed by this whole debacle. The woman to the left, or me, quietly studies the woman to the right. She is conscious, yes check that off the list, she’s breathing. The woman on the right doesn’t appear to notice my observations. She slowly shifts on her cushion and springs herself up to the floor. She ascends over the cinder block; unnoticed.
Do you want me to make you some green tea?
Possibly.
What do you mean possibly, you want it or you don’t.
Alright, no thanks, I’m not really in the mood.
The woman on the right nods her head and continues to walk over to the tea kettle in the kitchen. I watch her as she opens the cupboard, reaches for two mugs, and places two green tea bags in them. She places water in the kettle and waits for it to boil.
*dead air*
The woman on the right walks over with two mugs, filled to the brim with tea.
Oh, I didn’t think you were making one for me, says the woman on the left.
You said you wanted one, I made it just for you! says the woman on the right.
The woman on the right hands the woman on the left her mug. Once again, bouncing over the cinder block. As the woman on the right lays on the couch, she glances over to the woman on the left.
When are graduating again? In like a year? says the woman on the right to the woman on the left.
In December, remember we’ve talked about it several times?
No, you’ve never told me that.
Ventilation
Your sincerity lies uneasy within my stomach.
Pulse races from my throat to my chest.
I choke on your deceit.
I gasp for truth.
I vomit your lies.
It is the repetition of words and its sound that dilute the language. Words are regurgitated, ignored, and absorbed. They weigh heavy on our brains, back, and shoulders. We lie, cheat, and love through them. The fate of words suction away our emotion into an abyss. An abyss of primitive instinct. One of love and authenticity.
