Untitled #2
Roopsi Risam
Monologue
"Silence is like heroin," I thought. we drove in still, stale air. she
knows I love her, but something in her tells her I just don't. I don't
believe in a god because of her. I do believe in saints because of her,
though.
she thinks I'm selfish--that I have nothing I ever want to share. all
these years, I've been natural in my silence, I never saw myself hiding, but i
guess I always was. "Silence has to be like heroin," I thought, but I
hope I never truly know.
we say things we sometimes don't mean and we mean things we sometimes
don't say. Ideas and emotions dance around taunting me in my head. I've got
these scars from trying to pin them down, to say how I feel, but it's just not
that easy.
I dreamt I'd gone blind and my eyes were numb, I'd lost what I thought
mattered to me most--what I had mastered. I'd found I was wrong. Later
into the tossing of random ideas and sacrificed brainwaves of R.E.M. virtual
reality, I could feel the cold electric blue of your grave and my hand
quivering when I read the name with my hands and my numb eyes did cry.
I didn't feel the tears escaping until they caught my dry, chapped lips--I
never saw you say goodbye. I woke up and my eyes were swollen red from
the hot tears of a sleep that hurt me inside.
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