How long has it been now? There's something different about the concept of "estranged." It's not one of those normal-loss feelings, where you wave goodbye, weep, and carry on. It's different because they're still bumbling about someplace. And it's sort of uneasy to think that they may never think of you, and sort of eerie that they might. I think the hardest thing is dealing with artifacts. Once a pair is estranged, their artifacts become headstones. And there's not much use for headstones except for making you sad, or rubbing. I guess the rubbing would materialize in real life in perhaps recycling and making it into a new artifact. I heard that if you dance on a headstone, you're likely to be possessed by the spirit of that headstone. I think I'm going to line up my artifacts and dance upon them and see if any of you come back. Then again, maybe they're buried for a reason. And if I did dance, I'd have to get an exorcism. And I'd never be the same. Not that I have been the same since, well, the departures in the first place. I keep coming back to that sinking feeling, my digestion percolating at the idea that I could see one of you again. I might be dead to you, but we're still alive. So, I guess, I miss you. The kind of miss that makes my arms weary and lax; where I could see you at the grocery store or bowling alley, and I'd have to look away.
For you:
Picklepuss Pearl
I’m Picklepuss Pearl, and I’m not very nice,
I’m not made of sugar, I’m not made of spice,
my attitude’s awful, my temper is vile,
I have no idea what it feels like to smile.
I’m Picklepuss Pearl, and I’m nasty and sour,
my wretched expression can wither a flower,
it takes but a blink of my miserable eye
for laughing hyenas to break down and cry.
If I fix your face with my permanent frown,
your stomach is liable to turn upside-down,
my stare is so cold it turns water to ice,
I’m Picklepuss Pearl, and I’m not very nice.
And for you:
No comments:
Post a Comment