three

three

what will it be, then?

what are you sending me and when is it coming?

eddie greets every bird he sees like an old friend. it’s weird. but it’s his sign. i wouldn’t mind looking weird if you sent me a sign

he has only told me bits and pieces about his lost love. birdie he calls her, though that can’t be her real name

i wonder where she is now. i wonder where she flew

‘still no reply!’ i said to the therapist when i arrived for therapy this morning, and then i got the giggles again. she just raised her eyebrows and started writing

i don’t see how she can think that’s not funny

it is definitely very funny

as i laughed, i remembered what eddie said on the drive back from brighton. in between his naps, he said that laughing hysterically is very close to crying

and he’s right

it’s funny though

i dreamed of you last night and it was horrible. i hate dreaming of you, which makes me sound like a bitch, but i just can’t bear to wake up and remind myself that you’re dead. i don’t like the feeling of time moving on because it’s taking me further and further away from you, to a time when i forget your laugh or what it was like to hug you tightly and bury my face in your hoodie and breathe in your mum’s detergent. but i also want time to hurry up, to skip ahead to when my brain has categorized you as ‘dead’. when my subconscious doesn’t look for you in a room or my hands don’t get out my phone to message you when something funny happens

the therapist wears a lot of neutrals. beiges and creams and whites. i wonder if she’s trying to look as plain as possible so that you forget she’s there, so that you talk on and on endlessly about your pain, spilling your guts, while she sucks it all up and devours it. a neutral-hued pain dragon

she said i must have so many questions for you

but i really only have one

was it selfish of me to ask you to stay?