01.20.04 - 2:30

i'd rather you didn't, he said. that's fine, i told him, but i'm going to do what i'm going to do. and then i did it, just to prove it didn't matter (but that really had much more to do with me and my insecurities than it ever had to do with him). i looked at her to see if i was making any sense at all but she was looking away, blinking rapidly. i stared for a little bit, avoiding his eyes as she avoided mine. there was a loud hum underscoring the scene, a buzzing refrigerator or a low-flying plane, the fan on your laptop, i don't know exactly what it was. we took turns, pointing our eyes in different directions, mostly down at the floor.

i'm tired, she said, i'm tired and afraid and lonely and afraid of being lonely and tired of being afraid and alone and, and, and. she broke down in tears and i sat and watched her. part of me wanted to comfort her, part of me wondered if there were any other combination of those words that would mean something (i'm afraid of being tired? no, i guess she got all the important ones.) and with the thinking and wanting and wondering, paralysis gripped me and all i did was watch her cry, my empty hands hanging uselessly at my sides. it was the worst kind of crying, not the passionate sobbing of the living but the silent weeping of the dead. she didn't bother wiping her cheeks, the tears came too fast. i sat and watched her. that's all i did.

psycho somatic, she said, like it was two words, major emphasis on the psycho. you're making it all up and believing in it makes it real. whatever, i thought, i didn't care what she had to say by then. the splotchy rashes, the scaly patch of eczema, the violent scratching fits that left tiny white scars in their wake, they were real enough. but you think about it and that's why it happens, she said again, the frustration bleeding into her voice. you don't understand the scope of the situation, i thought. you are completely oblivious to this reality. if my believing in all this makes what's not there into something real, your disbelief turns everything real into something fantastic, imaginary, false. we live in different spheres, mine uncomfortable and dirty, yours blank and beautiful. we're both wrong in our own way.

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