The Saviour in LA | blips in memory
I think he had more important things to deal with anyways.
Yelling at the sky, as if the world can hear. What nonsense. They say how love was always fragile; stupid, stupid thing. Every night I think of the doorbell ringing, ringing. ‘Maybe’ is the single word which I tie my heart onto. Maybe he left me for a reason. Maybe it will turn out alright. In this unknown city in an unknown apartment under a set of unknown stars. God, what did I get myself into. The past years passed so quickly. The proposal, the thin golden ring. Took another swig, a dull thud of the bottle hitting the ground a few meters away, spewing: the wine making little floral patterns on the floorboards. I’ll have to clean that up later. I don’t care. My fingers are empty now, the same way those gnarled elm-branches loom in the darkness, reaching for the unrelenting sky. Hazy. That describes things nicely. I think the ring slipped during that episode in the bathroom. You know, that time when I thought how maybe if I cried enough, some saviour will come. The saviour didn’t come. I think he had more important things to deal with anyways. I would like to think that he has more important things to deal with. Maybe he did have more important things to deal with. Maybe. If this was the same me a few months ago maybe I could’ve gotten a job of some sort. Like scrubbing dishes or making coffee for those workers or something. Those almost-people, as if some god or other had picked them up and kneaded them between his massive palms. Scruffy, disgruntled little things. I know I don’t look better. I know they probably make more than me. I don’t care. I didn’t do anything wrong. Now I’m not sure what I can do. I’m don’t want to do anything. What do I have? A few hundred and an eviction notice. That’s what. But he’ll come back. I know it. A ring on the doorbell. I rise. I don’t care that I’m half naked. I don’t care about the mirror. He won’t care either. I open the door. I see the landowner and I puke.
