The Cafeteria

I had a dream of you this morning. I was sitting in a large cafeteria. I couldn't tell you where I was. I know I've never been there in my waking life. All the tables were white with grey tinted walls. 

I saw you coming towards my table. Suddenly, I felt nervous. You sat in front of me. I felt awkward because you weren't your usual self. You were quiet and the gods know, you can talk! 

I had a pamphlet in my hands about sleep apnea. You caught wind of that and asked me why I had that pamphlet. I smiled at you, folded the pamphlet and put it in my purse. I was embarrassed about the fact that I use a sleep apnea device and wanted to conceal that from you. 

You turned your back to me and started talking to three women at the table behind you. I felt so alone. I don't know how this happened next but you had some subs with you and you offered them to the women and I wondered why you hadn't offered one to me. I was heart broken.

Then you got up from the table and I believe you mentioned you were going to the men's room. I wasn't sure whether to wait for you or not. You hadn't said good-bye. 

So I waited but during the chaos of people passing through after lunch was over, I may have missed you coming out of the washroom. I waited near the door but you never appeared. I wondered why you hadn't said good-bye. 

I thought about how wrong I was about you, how you weren't the person I thought you were. I recalled wanting that person back - the kind, generous and thoughtful one.

Is this a premonition ? Is this what you're doing now? Making an exit when no one's looking in the hopes no one notices?

That's okay, you know. I've been told I've grown a solid pair of balls over the years compared to the fragile men in my life. 

From the ether, I'll say a little prayer to remove this burden from me. Because I'm good, you know? I'm really good. You don't know how good I am.

If this dream is a premonition, may you feel really bad, really soon. Because that's what you'd deserve.

Pretending

I think you're going to bail like a scared little boy. You'll tell yourself you're being honourable. But, you're not. You're not honourable. Only vulnerable. 

You'll make up some excuse about how busy you are, how something came up, how you can't get out of it. I know who you are. It's okay. Really. It's all okay. You are who you are. And I just have to accept that I was right, that I called it right from the start. You're just a guy. A guy who pretends to say something important. None of it is actually important.

How many benefits of the doubt can you give a person? 

The love of my life is in physical pain and it's only my heart that hurts. So, let it hurt, Oh Lord. I can handle it. I'll take it all in. I'll let it transform me into a beautiful person, into a more dedicated and loyal servant. 

I'll shift my focus to what's right here in front of me - my hands on compression stockings over my husband's leg, the ointment on his healing wound, the towel over his body as I help him out of the shower. Because the Lord knows that when it's all said and done, these will be the precious moments I remember with an ache in my heart, despite the fatigue and lethargy right now as I write this. I'll recall myself in a moment of joy and laughter with my beloved. The rest of it won't matter. The rest of it is history.

Like this memory of you right now. You won't matter. You'll be a fleeting thought, someone who was just passing through. Like so many others who touch our lives as they're busy making other plans. Some of us talk so much and say nothing. 

You must be one of those people..

Sorry

I'm sorry I failed you. I'm sorry it's come to this, like this, in this pathetic way, under these sheets I want nothing more than to swallow me whole.

I'm sorry I'm not like Lee. Or Jeanne. Not like Young or Ben.

I'm just me dreaming of love and romance. I know it's old and worn out. But what can I do but keep dreaming about the only thing that ever made me feel closer to...you?

I'm sorry I don't know how to row this boat. I'm sorry I feel the need to force a smile or pretend I'm happy.

I'm sorry I can't seem to find my way out. It's a labrynth of unfathomable proportions. You know how far and wide a thought can go until it finds a place to call home.

I'm sorry I'm so weak. I'm sorry that what's here with me now is not enough. It's not enough. I'm sorry I don't know how to live, to think, to be. There must be a flaw in the design. I ask you often, "Why did you make me this way?"

In the land of forgetfulness, it must be a kind of mercy. Otherwise, even the slightest twinge of remembrance might give way to hysteria. 

The way I was wrapped in a white cloth, spinning in the air, seeing the flash of light as my picture of sadness was taken, it will all forever be imprinted on the very fabric of my being.

I can't escape this knowing in what can only be described as...futility. I don't know how to transform this, how to make it more bearable. I don't how to play in a body that's slowly wasting away. I don't know how to unsee. I don't know how to live with what I've seen. I don't know how to appreciate this moment knowing what waits for me at the other side of this second, minute, hour, day, month...countdown.

Forgive me.