Multicolored Pain

What is normal? Am I? There is a fine line between pain and happiness. I’m happy but I’m in some kind of pain. All I can see is the multicolored silk pillows on the couch. I want to live on this couch, maybe forever. I want to die on this couch, with these pillows hiding my face.The vase on the shelf is not broken yet, it’s blue bird design still lives because I have not broken it, yet. I want to be in this room, really be here. I don’t want to think, think about how badly the wooden elephants want to be free.I have been in this room before. I have been in here with you. You were all I could see then. I am alone now with the maroon velvet easy chair and the windows, so many windows. Where to look out to? What is the world anyways?Without you?I remember your shoelaces, they were not any particular color, maybe they were white. You started running in the mornings, I thought maybe you were running away from me.Do you remember we spoke on the phone on Christmas Eve? You were alone, you weren’t totally drunk , you weren’t sober either. You were weepy. I was there.What was that Adele song you played for me when you made me a pork chop dinner? You said it sang to your heart. Did I ever sing to your heart?You were never driven by sex, you were the alternative to the men who tried to rape me. I asked you what your dirtiest fantasy was and you said you wanted to fuck a ballerina. You deserve a red rose for that one baby.You mentioned once about a garden you wanted in your backyard where you could make love to your wife. You said the word wife. Who will be your wife? Will she be your wife?I knocked over my glass of beer and shattered the glass. You got angry for a second. The next time I did that you laughed. These are the things you should remember. I remember the scowl on your face, then the smile.You don’t make me happy. You make me sad. That’s what I think I want: to be sad.Are you mad?Because I am.I’m lonely. I am alone.I need you to be me for a moment.When there’s two of us feeling this, it won’t be as real anymore.The ache in the back of my throat.Where are you now? Are you happy with her?I look at you, in the mirror, which one of us is me?Only when I don’t cry do I not know myself.nina