“I forget everything when I’m scared.”
“Why are you scared?”
Every weekend (which isn’t a weekend for me), I stand behind a glass counter, afraid of the same thing. I’m afraid she’ll come and see me… but, really, I’m more frightened that she won’t.
“If memories could be canned, would they also have expiry dates? If so, I hope they last for centuries.”
It doesn’t matter that it’s been years – some feelings don’t have an expiration. I’d totally clean her apartment (just so she wouldn’t have to) if she asked me. I’ve done almost everything she’s ever asked of me… except move on.
“Somehow everything comes with an expiry date. Swordfish expires. Meat sauce expires. Even cling-film expires. Is there anything in the world which doesn’t.”
She says it’s not me – that she just has no time – but pictures on the internet say otherwise… Everyone likes to think their time is more precious than others’.
“In May’s eyes, I’m no different from a can of pineapple.”
Funny… how time may be the only untangible resource we have… that we’re sure will expire. I’m still afraid mine will at any moment. I’m still too afraid to say anything one look from her might belittle me for.
“You like noisy music?”
“Yes. The louder the better. Stops me from thinking.”
“You don’t like to think? What do you like?”
“Never thought about it.”
I’ve never even been completely, wholly me, around her. I’m always forcing a memory be made out of each encounter… I assume I’m doing that so she won’t forget me.
“All those pineapples… gave me a stomachache. So I went to a bar. I thought alcohol would settle my stomach.”
But she already has, and I should stop caring about her for that… but I still can’t help seeing how she could help fix everything that frightens me.
“People change. A person may like pineapple today… and something else tomorrow…”
I used to think me might change things together. What a California dream…
At least, these days, it’s finally feeling a few centimeters closer to expiring.
“Can dreams be catching…? I guess I’ve been too nervous…”