Why don’t you say something? You just sit there, looking at me with those big blank eyes of yours – I don’t know, judging me, pitying me, laughing about me to yourself or whatever. But then, how can I know? How can I know if I’m pleasing you, or displeasing you, or if I even mean anything to you, when you give nothing back? Because it all looks the same. You happy to see me. You not wanting to see me. You enjoying my company. You angry at me because of something I’ve said or done. It all looks the same.
I don’t know what to make of you these days to be honest with you. The only word for it is cruel, the way you sit there, just looking all the time. What are you waiting for? Waiting for me to slip up I expect. So then you can punish me for it. You never say that’s what’s happening of course, but I know when it is I’m being punished.
Sometimes I think you’re a mirror that reflects only my bad side, or a big black hole that’s sucking me away bit by bit. But other times I can see there’s love there, like the love I still have for you, my sweet. Something in the way you look at me just says so all of a sudden, even though I know nothing’s really changed in your expression.
And then sometimes I wonder if there’s anybody in there at all.
I just wish you’d say something, that’s all.
From the forthcoming collection, The Shuffle by Richard Blandford.© Copyright Richard Blandford 2007
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