I Am the Elegy
a prose experiment
Did you think it was fun? Pulling me on your strings like a puppeteer?
I’m away from the crowd again. It’s another night where I keep to my drink and my far corner of the room. But I can always catch a glimpse of you, whether you’re there by moonlight or sunlight, and a part of me watches you with disdain even though a greater part of me admires you even more.
There’s nothing to do but go back to how it once was. Before everything happened.
But a part of me doesn’t want to go back to the humdrum days before you came in like electricity to my senses. Every single day, I’m here and you’re there — and I can’t bridge the gap. I’ve never been able to do so.
You wanted for nothing while I craved after every crumb of affection thrown my way.
I cried into my pillow at night because knowing you — even just knowing you — hurt too much.
Go back to the beginning and make things right.
But where is the beginning? Was it when you said hello against all the odds? Was it when I stuttered out a greeting in return? Or was it when you crept into my life with your goading smile and your carefree ways, inching into my heart in the process?
No.
I won’t go back.
I drain the drink and know it’ll hit me in a few minutes. It’ll knock me out like the punching I deserve.
Confessions of love?
No, I’ve never done that.
I’ll take this to my grave.
Because I am the elegy, and the elegy is me.
