The Girl and Me

I feel neglected but it is no less than a relief. The girl makes me feel so ordinary, so watery. So usual.

Gently cradled, I am, by the quieting grey sky, this half-dark in daytime like a visual lullaby, coaxing me to sleep. I am drunk with sleep, I am fluid with it. The numbing cold takes me yet further from myself and I watch what happens standing apart, pleased with the way life is progressing in sloppy chunks instead of neat, segmented slots. No clock-watcher, I, time moves as it will, pulling me along gently by the sleeve.

The girl is Estella, and I am Pip. Yes, so sweet, alluring even. Then I, attention-hungry, give in. I'll do what the girl tells me, bring her presents, beg for her presence. And then she moves along. I try to hold her interest, but I am just a toy. Soon the girl wants to play with a new toy and I am set aside.

The girl forgets me. I was with her and it was like the sun shining. Now the girl is in her room, not-alone and probably drinking. I am here, staring uncomprehending at the tv. My lip quivers, but I can't bring myself to let the hot wet spill over my eyelids.

I would have gone through the rain to get to the girl. She only had to say she wanted me there. I begin to wonder what she wants with me, and I don't have an answer. I turn the shower as hot as it will go and try to believe it is washing away my insecurities, but the girl lives in the spaces behind my closed eyelids. She lives in the spaces and I can't fill in the blanks.

I am possessive of the girl like she's candy. I am possessive of the girl like she's mine. Sometimes she is. Or sometimes she lets me feel like she is and I tell myself the pretty lie.

She told me I am pure. She meant I embrace my strangeness. The girl often tells me things like this; she likes how I respond, the self-conscious blush and how I give myself over to her words.

The girl calls me beautiful and I am her puppet once again. I could do this forever, and I would, too. Except for the torment of it, of course. Except for how it's killing me. Her hands on my skin and I am feverish like tropical summers. her hands on my skin making me foolish. Her hands pale like calla lilies with short nails red like fruit.

I want the girl. I want to do what she wants me to, I just wish she would tell me what that was.