She reminded me so much of myself but if I could stare into the future and see me, at 84.
I first was fascinated she couldn’t seem to inadvertently kill herself by smoking for close to 65 years.
I laughed as I scrubbed the tub about how my slow death plan joke Might not work anymore.
As the days carried on, I asked about other people in her life. Most women of that age did something with other women after their husbands died much like my grandmother attending every church function she can find within 40 miles.
I asked about children, grandchildren, and widow-ly indices’ as per my preprogramed work script fluently passed my lips as it had many times.
She shares a story of her husband cheating on her eons ago in her twenties.
Caught off guard, I stare puzzled at her serious facial expressions as I commend her for doing such an honorable thing continuing to raise her children alone.
IT’s almost two years later before I realize how it’s possible to lose the hours like you wound the clock yourself.
I realize how one stays alone for 60 years without being something to smirk about in the quite of your apartment while she’s happy inside.
In two years, I’ve amassed enough ghosts to know not to stay up past a certain time of night.
In that time, I’ve realized my own happiness is better left to me not someone else.
Two years, and I rather be haunted by those missing on the EMF you see in the meters than gather another damned one to fight why my program runs through my internal hard drive.
The pain worth feeling for amasses as your life passes before your eyes. So quickly, you can’t even keep up and are stuck trying to rewind the, “should have said and would have done,” only to miss the entire plot.
And you wake up 84.
As though, you hadn’t even taken part in your life either.
Like just yesterday, it was sunny and you meant to go outside and meet someone to make you feel good again.
Instead, you decided to try something else, watch something else, be something else….and forgot the world outside.
You’re catching yourself walking the same paths inside, eventually not being able to stand quite as tall as before, and suddenly realizing you’re so much softer than you used to be.
All I could remember thinking was; Oh honey I wish mine were only one, but I madam am a glutton for punishment attempting to satisfy an unquenchable thirst.
One demon isn’t enough to haunt me.
I’m looking for an entire chess set to keep me busy from sunrise to sunset.
Two years to realize, the apartment on the second floor of that building housed a beautiful rendition of a far less brash version of myself, preaching on the answers to life.