Me and Me

Weren’t you just the most pitiful thing. You make me sick. No one; not your sister, your friends, no one knew about how you laid upon your death bed, with life going on just beyond the prison of your mind. You didn’t hear the children next door playing Marco Polo in their pool, or the song of the nightingale. The books by your bedside were screaming to be read but you knew you couldn’t see the words, and you didn’t even have the strength to turn the pages anyway.

So they say, depression is real, but was that the case with you? Oh cry me a river. Just because he broke up with you is that any excuse for you to believe your life is over? Why couldn’t you get up out of those dirty sheets, walk over the tear stained tissues you threw on the floor and out of that musty dusty bedroom. You could have at least opened the window and thought for a nanosecond as you breathed in the honeysuckle that life would once again be worth living. But no. There you lay. Until.....

I don’t even remember how long you laid there. Was it five days, five weeks, five months? Does it matter? Because today as I think about you ten years ago, I don’t even know who you are. When did I fall in love with myself? All that matters now is that whoever that me was back then....honey we are divorced. It’s a beautiful thing to fall in love with oneself.