Thoughts to belling the cat

Sometimes I feel I should just go over to the elephant and ask, “You like me, don’t you?”

At least that way I’ll know I’m not crazy.

I swear I’m going crazy. More than the ‘do you or don’t you’ poser of a lifetime, it’s my Pavlovian response to you that is cause for much worry. Cues to you assault me day in and out.

Then there’s the lack of will power or any sort of decorum. You turn me into a puddle. And that is embarrassing on so many levels.

Then I realize, “Who am I kidding here?” You are the sifu. Houdini could learn a trick or two from you. When have I ever received a straight answer?

All I'd get from you is, "Is this a trick question?"

When blinds slip

I just felt sorry for you.

No crueler words could have been so easily spoke. It was worse than I’m sorry. It tarnished everything. Like the crawl up your skin when you see an army of ants and worms swarming over a dead corpse.

I was so thirsty that I soaked myself in everything you offered.

The care that you so lovingly bestowed was kindness wrapped with concern. You knew my favourites, so you simply ensured that I would feel their comfort.  

You once told me I deserve the best that life can give, and it would happen; that someone would work hard to make it happen. And I believed that I had found that in you.

 Everything that we had was a figment of my imagination.