Sometimes, when I mean to pronounce the name of any man who stands beside me, someone who is so far removed from who Robert is and who he will ever be, I say my executioner’s name instead. There are songs I know Robert would love, and that is reason enough to keep listening. I taste the distance between us often, and it is a bitter thing. I have held our history by its tail for so long, it has been absorbed into my skin. And now he has gone to explore the sea, while I decompose by choice. Common sense may have cast him out, but emotions reject logic, and they continue to ache for him.
I am an abandoned playground. The skeleton lays atop me, while the fantastic beast smiles at the absurdity of it all. My oxygen is still stolen on a nightly basis. Good luck has a way of siding with fools. I would steal it all, if I could locate the vault, or seduce the banker. And just when I can feel it turn in my favor, an earthquake will shake it upside down.