You are sitting in your regular space on the sofa—feet up, beer in hand. I’m curled up in my normal spot in the chair by the big window. I like how I can keep an eye on you and the street at the same time without it looking like I’m doing either. You’re watching something loud and aggressive. Wrestling, maybe? I’m reading an electronic book.
At least that’s what it looks like.
Really, I’m writing this document. I’m slicing open the veins of my emotions and bleeding them out into a word processing document. I’m not sure what my goal is.
Maybe I just want to figure out what I’m feeling. Maybe I’m hoping it will help me talk to you, figure out where this relationship is going. Or maybe I’m just documenting things so that some day, when I’m no longer around, someone will find it and understand how things really were.
You’re not a bad person. For a long time, you were the best person. You were the only one who understood me, who really saw me. The only one who appreciated me.
Then things started to change. It was so gradual, so slow. We spent more time chewing and less time laughing during dinner. The TV came on earlier and stayed on later. You started taking on bigger projects at work, the kind that kept you away late into the evenings.
I never, ever worried that you were lying to me, cheating on me or blowing our money at the track. I just saw you drifting further and further away from me. I saw myself spending long days and longer night alone in this big house.
I couldn’t stand the thought of losing what we had, of losing you. I had to do something, even if it was something drastic. I couldn’t stand the thought of you not sitting in your regular space on the sofa—feet up, beer in hand.
Now I know you’ll be there always. You’ll never leave me. Whenever I look up, I’ll see you there, staring eyes fixed on the screen, hand permanently hooked around a beer can.
I can sit here, in my normal spot on the big chair by the window and see your face—the face I love more than any in the world—while I watch for them.
*7/17/17 prompt: living in an empty room
(While I like the idea here, I am not happy with the execution. I did enjoy playing with some 2nd-person perspective. Or a rough approximation of it.)