At night, fingers wrapped around that fragile cord, I whispered lyrics laced with my secrets into your ear. The night you came home, I couldn't find any other way to say it. "We will grow old", I sung, "and when we die, we'll bury ourselves, 'cause no one wants to die alone". And then I hung my head in my hands and cried.

I loved "Shelia". I promised to grow old, to share my life, to die alone together. What could be better than having that "familiar kind of love, like when married couples stop having sex or something"?

When you came home that night, I cried, because if you had died, I would have been alone. I sit on the park bench, watching the rain pattern the pages of my book, and I know that I'm going to die alone.

No comments: