Clandestiny

You were a dream. I know you were. You invaded my life for the past 3 years, poisoning my mind and controlling my thoughts. Then in an instant, you just vanished. The cloud of smog cleared up simply by me waving my arms and opening a window to let you get out. It’s funny how powerful you were. All you had to do was talk, but your words were powerful. More powerful than mine. Sometimes I’m terrified that you’ll come back, or maybe you’re still here, in my head. Your presense may be gone, but words can last a long time. And you were never really here, after all. Just a small voice in my ear that I would listen to every night after I picked up the phone. Like clockwork. We have spoken every night since approximately May 2008 until October 22, 2010.

That’s 905 days. Or 2 years, 5 months, and 22 days.

129 weeks.

21720 hours.

1,303,200 minutes.

78,192,000 seconds.

Wow. it may not seem like a long time, if you factor in that I should be alive for another 70 or 80 or so years. But still, there’s a sort of gravity to this moment of time in my life. I’m sure it won’t bother me as much in the future, but it’s almost like a black hole in my timeline. It ate up those 2 and a half years, and it’s slowly crawling back to me to the present, trying to reel my back in.

I remember your words. You don’t have to keep repeating them, imaginary-version-of-Chris. For some reason I imagine going back to find you, just to see if I’ll happen to run into you even thought I have no idea exactly which city you’re in. I’ll just wander around the dark alleys where you pissed your own words on the wall, and spray painted your shit for all the world to see. There I’ll find you, and I’ll enjoy every second of it. Maybe enjoy is the wrong word, as in “I will ‘enjoy’ wanting to stab you even though I’m fucking scared of you”. Why? Because you were real, and then you were also surreal. Sometimes I wondered if you actually existed or if my mind made you up to drive myself crazy. Let’s go with option #2, it would make things much simpler. Then that means that you aren’t still out there, running around and terrorizing people with your words. Your words. I swear to the devil I will erase them. I’m sick of them showing up in every thought, and how some of them seem to continually sneak into my writing in this post-you time. Soon you will be gone.