I exist in jagged spaces. Like the frayed strands of jeans ripped between my thighs or the breaks in the outlines of unfinished tattoos. Art that doesn’t cover my walls, instead propping up dust in corners, or bits and pieces of a life I forgot to throw away all speak to my permanent displacement.
I exist in the breaks between puffs on a cigarette, in the spaces between words. Never fully pulling myself up and away. I remain suffocated by the sheer amount of air. I exist for no one, not even myself, and fail to connect the lines between here and there.
My reflection, red lips curled around a cigarette or smoky eyes hiding thoughts much more sinister, feigns surprise though I don’t feel anything more than recognition.
I’ve become so accustomed that I can’t even claim myself anymore.
“I asked you to get the chairs out.” Lila knew that Charles would use every opportunity to exasperate her, especially when it came to her family.
“I did.” His lips curved into a smirk, only infuriating her more.
“How exactly do you expect anyone to sit in them?” She spit the words towards him like sharpened knives. Charles tapped his chin as he examined his chair placement.
“You didn’t specify what the chairs were to be used for. You just said get them out.” He gestured grandly. “They’re out … your highness.” The last words stung with a venom only her husband could perfect.
“You’re ridiculous.” Sharp pain shot through Lila’s palms where her nails were threatening to break skin. “This is ridiculous!”
“It is, isn’t it? I suppose that’s what you get.”
The force of her slap sent him reeling to the side. He half expected his fingers to come away from the stinging imprint with a coating of fresh blood.
“You bitch! You want chairs! Here!” Charles channeled the rage spiraling through him as he shook the metal pergola. The polls swayed violently, shaking the chairs loose. All at once they came crashing down to the pavement.
It is an act of happenstance that humans age. We were supposed to be the all supreme, controllers of our environment and all that means.
At least, that’s what this book says. Personally, I’ve never felt one bit in control of this life. Try telling your military commanders or your knuckleheaded children to just go with the flow. They laugh in your face and tell you to put your glasses back on so you can see reality.
They’ll see one day. All these lies in the name of control will fall away. Someone will need glasses, it won’t be me.