I have no one left. I have no one. I am nothing, I am useless. I have boxed myself into a corner alone! Or has he boxed me in here? What is the truth? Regardless. I have no one left. I am not the same person I was. I’m not even a shell of who I was, I don’t exist, I am no one. I don’t even recognize myself. Who am I and where has everyone gone?
I look at things, through things, things and images on paper — pictures — of things and people, in the past, how they used to be, how I used to be.
Nice, he said.
Yes, nice, I respond — despond.
There was a dream once, but it didn’t turn out that way, I continued.
It didn’t “turn out,” I think. I didn’t “turn out,” I think.
I don’t understand. I have no one left. Just me. Was this his intention? I was surrounded by people, my people, and love. Or maybe I misunderstood that too.
Then there was no one but us and now he’s not here for me either, maybe he never was.
I don’t understand.
The phone doesn’t ring. Hello? I’m here, but, maybe I’m not, apparently I’m not or it doesn’t matter.
He just sits, silent, in the dark, like a statue. Where has he gone? Surely he was here, but maybe he wasn’t. He doesn’t say anything, but he listens to everything and nothing. Waiting for the next moment to pounce on no one, but me.
Now I sit here, silent, in the dark, like a statue. I don’t say anything, because no one is listening, because no one cares. But I listen to everything and nothing, because nothing is there. Waiting, waiting for something, but there is nothing.