I have a roommate. Ever since my ex left I have had a roommate. Her name is Melancholy. She moved in as soon as Michael set his foot outside with his suitcase and his excitement for his new life. She laughed at the look that took over my face as soon as I got back to the newly empty house. What a bitch.
She's very quiet. Never makes a loud sound. She didn't bring much other than her heavy presence into the house. She is almost like a ghost. She never leaves the house, and she quietly follows me everywhere when i am here. At every step I take in the house, she whispers in my ear small reminders of my relationship with Michael. Points out things about him that I miss. His hands. His laughter. His little walk. She simply doesn't see that I am working on moving on and letting my heart heal, but the bitch has made it a task to attach little memories about what is no longer into every crevice and crack in the house.
I like having her around because now I can say that I am not alone, but her presence makes me feel rather lonely - she sucks the joy out of me. Thank God for the cats or I would simply be miserable. She's a lazy broad - never helps me with the cats: never cleans the poopers, never feeds them, never pets them. They are solely my job. I guess her job is to keep on pouring booze into the cut that was made by dude's departure, and to ensure that it doesn't heal. I've seen the dried blood under her fingernails from when she has plucked the stitches right out of the wound; just when you think that you are healing, there she goes and does her thing: some plucking, some pouring, some reminding and a whisper.
She is a liar too. Her reminders and her whispers are only of the good things about what was; she never reminds me of the bad; and so it is now that what was is nothing but goodness and that aches me because it makes me ask myself "Why?" or "Where did we go wrong?". The bitch never whispers to me a word of encouragement or truth to help me see that maybe this is good? No, she doesn't. She just sits there patiently awaiting for the moment when I will get up and move about to say: Michael touched that switch with his little finger. Michael turned that nob with his hand. Michael sat on that cough and laughed his ass off at the TV. That big empty space on the bed was Michael. And so on.
I going to ask her to move out. I'll start working on a way to rid her presence and her negative input in my life. Who needs that? There is another woman waiting to move in and her name is Felicity; I think she'll be a much better roommate than Melancholy.
She's very quiet. Never makes a loud sound. She didn't bring much other than her heavy presence into the house. She is almost like a ghost. She never leaves the house, and she quietly follows me everywhere when i am here. At every step I take in the house, she whispers in my ear small reminders of my relationship with Michael. Points out things about him that I miss. His hands. His laughter. His little walk. She simply doesn't see that I am working on moving on and letting my heart heal, but the bitch has made it a task to attach little memories about what is no longer into every crevice and crack in the house.
I like having her around because now I can say that I am not alone, but her presence makes me feel rather lonely - she sucks the joy out of me. Thank God for the cats or I would simply be miserable. She's a lazy broad - never helps me with the cats: never cleans the poopers, never feeds them, never pets them. They are solely my job. I guess her job is to keep on pouring booze into the cut that was made by dude's departure, and to ensure that it doesn't heal. I've seen the dried blood under her fingernails from when she has plucked the stitches right out of the wound; just when you think that you are healing, there she goes and does her thing: some plucking, some pouring, some reminding and a whisper.
She is a liar too. Her reminders and her whispers are only of the good things about what was; she never reminds me of the bad; and so it is now that what was is nothing but goodness and that aches me because it makes me ask myself "Why?" or "Where did we go wrong?". The bitch never whispers to me a word of encouragement or truth to help me see that maybe this is good? No, she doesn't. She just sits there patiently awaiting for the moment when I will get up and move about to say: Michael touched that switch with his little finger. Michael turned that nob with his hand. Michael sat on that cough and laughed his ass off at the TV. That big empty space on the bed was Michael. And so on.
I going to ask her to move out. I'll start working on a way to rid her presence and her negative input in my life. Who needs that? There is another woman waiting to move in and her name is Felicity; I think she'll be a much better roommate than Melancholy.
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