dichotomies

He says that everyone feels confounded – confused. That what I need to do is close my eyes and think hard about what makes me happy. Calls me an idiot and laughs. Maybe that’s what we all need. Someone to hold our heads under water and then tell us to breathe. Our words wrestle through the ether of cords and dead space until I hate myself and him. Wonder why I call to begin with, until it slowly seeps from his voice. It’s the reassurance of love. The idea that even someone who has tangible evidence of my terrible mistakes still manages to endure me – to find me worthwhile – forgiven. And I apologize for all the times I wasn’t there to hear him scream.
I tell him a story about the ways in which people turn in to wall to wall carpeting. Until we’re reduced to whispers about conversations and time.

I’m going to bed and to think about socks.