November 13th, Year 22

Joseph is an intruder. He is sneaking his way into my dreams. This was not part of the plan, and just now I realized I had one. Not a very good one, and certainly not a clear one.

Despite my constant objections, a life in which nothing was felt but fear, anger, and sadness was easier because of its predictability. This modest passion has entered to complicate and confuse me. I am now a mess of knotted wires.

I tell Joseph that I no longer wish to see him, but he does not listen. After I arrived home from having my proposal rejected at Alcoholics Anonymous, he was there, waiting eagerly for my kisses. He is always there, and that will not change. We are neighbors. I see his shadow through the drawn curtains. He stands behind them, listening closely for my car. He runs out to greet me with a child’s smile. I offer little resistance. It is all vocalized disapproval, and stern eyes.

I think that if only he cared to examine me closely, he would see that I live in a world of absolutes. My inflexibility would break his arms, as he tried to adjust my position, so that my aggression would not end us. He would see a need in my eyes, I would never fully admit to, but would exhaust him still. We would become entangled, and asphyxiated by co-dependency. We would cease to be a romantic affair, and become a great disappointment.

November 13th, Year 22

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