For the first time.
I hadn’t shared it with anyone else before.
You were singing your favorite frivolous song,
over imaginative illustrations of butterflies.
He smiled.
But as he looked around the room, I saw through it.
The smile, wide and tight as a dehydrated prune,
slowly faded-
as he looked at me.
He shared his opinion of the state of my house.
In a voice pretending to care he said:
I should do my laundry; the clothes seem homesick for the closet.
I should wash my dishes; even starving rats wouldn’t eat off them.
I should throw out the garbage; the smell is worse than fireworks in a prison.
…he tried to explain…
That's because fireworks represent freedom…
Anyway, if you do nothing else, you should dust and just generally tidy up,
I mean seriously,
aren’tyouevenalittleembarrassedtoinvitemeovertoahouseinthiscondition?
She never would have…
The lonely tear,
that rolled down the seam between my cheek and nose,
stopped his pretentiousness.
When it reached the corner of my mouth,
and I tasted its memories-
your memories-
I asked him to leave.
I know we are friends, but all I have left of her is this video,
and the dust.
You know where dust comes from don’t you?
It is pieces of her.
I hear her voice,
and feel her presence,
and I-
am–
happy.
-- Gregory P., Adult