Since I took my love away

You call me on Christmas eve, you're voice is altered. You say you take your medicine, that you eat properly, that you feel your body again. I can hear the others in the background, their laughter... I want to believe you, I want you to be well, to feel again. You wouldn't lie to me, would you?

The days are grey, the windows stained by too many fingerprints. Dust on the ceiling, covering the yellowed white paint. No boundaries between seasons, the 70's curtains prevents the sun beams from entering, from touching your degenerated muscles, your pale skin. I leave the tray on your bedside table, you refuse to touch the food. I'll pick it up an hour later, everything is left untouched. I don't utter a word, you just lie there with your face down on the pillow.

I'm passed the stage of crying (but the dried tears still stain my glasses) and I don't do this missing shit anymore. From now on I will be rock, hard stone. I know it's a bad fit, but I don't care. And I (want to) drink too much, it's the only thing that keeps me sane, keeps me away from the feelings. I cannot tell you anything, not a single story. I imagine that I still know you, but I'm not sure. Have I ever?

Sometimes, I try to ask if there's anything you'd like. If there is something I can do for you. Mostly I do my duty in silence. This is what is expected of me, this is what my consciousness tells me I need to do. No one objects, no one asks any questions (about what I do, what you do, how we feel). Ever. Occassionally you do get out of that bed. Sometimes after hours of screaming and tired tears from my part, sometimes after hostile silences or (pretended) tender persuasion. "I have to wash the bed linen, you can't lie in your dirt. You have to wash yourself. Let me help you. We can do it your way. Please. Don't do this to yourself (or to me)."

So I detach myself. I leave you. I take my love away (at least the destructive parts). I let you visit me every once in a while, I let you visit my heart, my body, my new life. Of course I wish for difference, for change, for you to become anew. I've left the scene, yet await that you'll be the one who returns for the last act (in this neverending drama).