accountability is a rather difficult position to adapt into one’s lifestyle. many seem to think they have it down, but i can counter argue from a multitude of angles.
you change the locks. give a selected few the combo. then of course they have a cunning approach of not only changing the four-digit token, but also use it to further weaken an already broken heart.
they take the 5’s, 6’s, 7’s, 4’s and boomerang it in your direction. you can dodge until those bones begin to contort. bend into knots. appetite lost. thoughts forget routine realism. you are forced to just stand there. take the throws like a champ. all is well as long as they don’t see your insides.
god forbid an x-ray at this moment. no hiding there. cuts. bruises burst into puddles of sweat. even that distraction worsens the preexisting societal transgression. are all these bunnies doing the same thing? dependent on financing their physiques to forget why they came here in the first place? i'll save that for another post ::smiles::
connections do this to people. regardless of the category of rapport, you can’t escape the certainty of disappointment. some say it’s a full time job. 50/50.
you had just finished coloring. placed crayons aside. spoke of chat rooms. how people on the other end can be so deceiving. those on both sides should understand the repercussions. you argued the online interface bears no face. you then turned around. caught their reflection in an antique window. they were long gone. apparently the discussion failed to intrigue any sense of curiosity.
snap fingers. attempt to grab their attention. dial tone in monotone. their reflection leaves. you hear your own thoughts. why. when. how. did this happen? crayons were also missing.
now this is fascinating isn’t it?
those who run with this heart demise tend to forget everything around it. their own reflection grows cloudy. despite you finding your “true love,” there are others out here who have invested in you so much so that you are inherently who you are because of the cumulative joint effort these individuals gracefully offered. forgive me for the fragment. it was necessary. i reckon this "true love" notion comes with a price.
that 50/50 doesn’t seem to be fitting now. your inability to comprehend accountability evolves into an emotional debt you know you should pay off. will you? probably not considering your mental state is anything but rational at the moment. at the expense of a coloring book. a book that took years to fill in. truth is, it wasn’t even finished. false testimonies assured that it was going to be completed at a later date in the distant future.
last entry was heavy handed. they didn’t want to stay within the lines this time. you were patient not to comment. perhaps it was a move toward artistic freedom. you allowed it. years went on like that. but still on that same design. colors layered on top of one another. blues became mauve. yellows transformed into bile. and eventually all agreed to settle on black. you throw a sweater over achy shoulders. things just got cold inside this room.
book sits in a hot sun. colors fade each day passing. crayola clots melt into entries from nearly a decade ago. of course they wouldn’t know. the book isn’t with them, it’s with you. in your sight. every morning. afternoon, and sometimes evenings. you watch the blinds fold
downward. reminders of eyes closing. reminiscent of it all. metaphorically symbolic. overwhelming.
lesson learned to keep doors locked at all times. color by yourself from now on. keep combinations secret. and more importantly, play dead. it’s safer that way.
p.l.h,
a
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