I wish that we still had a bath, but the fresh, shiny tiles just mock me. I want to slip under the water, burning hot, making my skin pink and raw, and grit my teeth in pain as the temperature mellows and I feel better about myself.
I get so funny sometimes. I want to make you hold on to things for me, for safe keeping. The spare button to my pajamas, turquoise and covered in silk. A pair of tiny clay pigs I bought on a whim since I'm a sucker for kitch. The receipt to the album I listened to forever and ever amen. These are all pieces of me that I want you to have and look after. So that when I move on and you move on, I still exist somewhere.
I want to dedicate an entire life to discovering you. Unravelling mysteries, fingers running along the knotted thread, leading myself out of the labyrinth (or is it further in?).
How can I bear to have these thoughts in my head?