78

A letter: 

     I thought I was okay. I left the house so it would be true. I had also been drinking. I kept thinking about the dreams I’ve been having. They’re not mythic. They just seem to have engrained themselves into my consciousness. Giant obelisks. Not sharp or bright, they’re dull as if they’ve been here for years. I try not to pay them attention. I think they mean something. I get distracted when I’m out. I keep looking at her wedding band and her husband. I keep looking at the couple beside me. He strokes her hand with his thumb. They’re underage. They are younger than me, anyway. She left with an open shirt. Bra to navel, undone. I know where they’re going. They had another one with them, a bowtie in her hair and acne scars. After they left, I watched a same sex couple. She keeps stroking her partner’s arm. I have vertigo from their happiness, from the life I made for them in the suburbs. That’s what I meant, my friend.