We lie here, in a bed, facing one another. Not a word is uttered in the earliest hour of the morning. Silence lasts for minutes until she speaks. The tumult has increased and her everlasting sadness is shared with my own. That’s the thing. I am so sad. My eyes barely open any more. In this pitiful self-pity that I pity myself in, I could see that, she too, felt the same. For once, somebody feels……. the same. It was very different to all those times when you speak and they nod their heads agreeing as if they understand what you are saying. They don’t. Of course. Are they even listening? Probably not. Only smiling before they continue ‘chatting’ about their Saturday or their Sunday or the fact that Miss Serene has finally ended it with Mr. Malibu. She, however, is meaningful core. An insanity that I understand but also have. We don’t need to nod. Nor do we need to comfort one another because it’s a mutual and profound declaration that requires no explanation and certainly not any after thought. Perhaps, though, it requires a party of some sort. Some kind of psychotic debauchery, or revelry. I’m dreaming of revelry. It’s a nice song that one. What a terrible thing to finally admit to insanity, but it has to be done and who better a person to do it with, than with her on a Saturday morning, at 5AM as we lie in the dark wondering when this will ever end! WHEN?
serial killer sundays obsession"You feel the last bit of breath leaving their body. You're looking into their eyes. A person in that situation is God!"
"Sometimes I feel like a vampire."
