Pisaries Creator

There were spots on the doors I couldn’t see earlier. I had come into this particular room, full of black and white photographs hung on the walls in asymmetrical order. When I first came into this room with black walls facing one direction and white walls facing another direction, I didn’t know at the time I would be staying here beyond my initial intention. You see the reason I came here, in the first place, was to be alone.

I had lived with my lover for over thirty years, and they were thirty long years, but they were my years. I longed to be touched again by those hands, the ones that gripped so tightly onto my favorite coffee mug, and I swear this pressure caused the mug to break in the dishwasher. That opportunity has passed and no matter how much I wish my lover to come back, the chair will remain empty.

I remember the promise I was given on my wedding day. I was promised many drops of rain and on our honeymoon many rainbows full of mystery. I wasn’t expecting a leprechaun or a pot of gold. Anything little would have sufficed. Instead, I was led astray, and my hair turned white within the span of a few years. I couldn’t believe how time betrayed me. Back when I was little, my parents told me I would never have to worry about getting old. Now, I know my mother was full of lies and my father sucked on a canister of helium. They were not being honest with me.

The examples were countless but meaningless by today’s standards. Nothing can be re-taught when memory lane stopped miles. The black paint had already begun to fade and the photographs on the walls were distorted from all my drinking. I found myself drinking more than two drinks. My cravings didn’t stop. I knew liquor wasn’t good for me. There had to be something else to absorb my time, what I had lost, and still I kept drinking.

Throwing my head back and downing shots was enough to drown out the irritating voices within my ears at night. I soon replaced food with alcohol and my clothes swallowed me like the whale did to Captain Ahab’s leg. He never wanted his leg back because he knew it was lost to the sea. I was lost too. I had secrets and stories I hid from my lover, nothing too blasphemous.

If I was to be punished for this, there would be nothing to stop someone. I didn’t have any more guilt or shame or regret. I simply existed in this room with faded black walls with my perceptions. My mouth had done the work. My stomach felt full. I had been vindicated. My life didn’t depend on holding my tongue while running over hot coals. The emptiness around me had passed. The ugly fragrance had died. The crocodiles had appeared in my yard on that humid day. I walked toward them, ready to leave this world, to take me to a place I had never been before.