No longer that kind of person
Everybody is fast asleep, and I'm not planning on disturbing them They can stay as long as they like. I would ask them to leave, but I'm no longer that kind of person. I've learnt to pay the utmost respect To the choices that others have made To the desires that others may have. So I'll leave them exactly as they are – cast across beds and dining room tables with their mouths wide open, spit dribbling down their beautiful chins. They are my very best friends. We're really connected and have lots in common. They listen to all I have to say They know all there is to know about me So I'll let the fact that it's been six days since any of them moved Slide. I remember the first time I opened my apartment door. They walked in cheerfully, playing music we all like. They brought their wine bottles as tribute They brought weed and CD players and infinite understanding and asked me how I was, and I answered. We opened all the windows, so that the neighbours could listen to us and Envy our bright night, our bright youth, Our progressive political statements and mutual admiration. And then we sat around in circles, feeling wanted We played drinking games and devised unique rituals Kissed and licked and bit and Swore to stay This wild and innovative and true to each other always. When the morning came nobody was asleep We removed all the traces of the good, clean fun we'd had Talking ceaselessly And then there was cheap breakfast, bossanova music and YouTube videos. And when they left, the apartment was tidy I was at peace. But it's not like that anymore.
Everyone is fast asleep; I have no idea when they'll wake up So I guess I'll just have to wait it out. We have time. We rented a bunch of it at the video store And I pride myself on my patience. At some point, it will be rewarded when they Finally rise Pull puke-sprayed boots onto their dirty feet and say "Thank you, thank you so much for everything." or "You really know how to make things happen." And I'll nod and smile and guard my "Oh, it's nothing" and my enthusiasm with the utmost care, Snug and warm in their very special breed of expectations. It's a learned behaviour that I will never unlearn. It makes living a joy and colours everything in vomit and wonder. It hurts. It paralyses.
They sleep and burp in their dreams. I take the vacuum cleaner in my hands and sit down on a chair in the corner. I hope they start talking again soon. Maybe one of them will cough before giving me The answers I'm looking for. Maybe one of them will wake up and help me with the dishes, like they all used to We'll joke and dance and listen to podcasts and pile the trash up Somewhere halfway through the Joy Division album she'll grab my wet hand and say: "Thank you so much for everything. I know that you've been sick" Then she'll wake everybody up and ask them to leave for me. I can't do it by myself. I'm no longer that kind of person.