Monday, March 13, 2017

Black

The lonelines is unpalatable, black and raw, like the macabre squid ink linguine that we had for dinner last night, for my birthday, when you were either drunk or hungover, I don’t even know these days.


Its is absurd on the outside, to see you like this. Attractive, wealthy, loving partner, beautiful charismatic baby, successful expat.

But you are so rotten on the inside, so charred, ugly, twisted, hurt, in so much pain. I see your face when you wake up, for a moment you smile at the dawn, the warm soft baby between us, her fluffy hair… and within 15 minutes you are in the shower crying again. Some days you go to work, some days you don’t, You wander by the river looking for turtles. You gaze aimlessly and angrily straight ahead, like Kim Novak, searching for her dead former life. You go to cafes and throw up in the bathroom. You slice yourself up with blades where no one will see, except me. You look at your body becoming thinner and wonder when the organs will stop and you can just fade away. You love me and love Matilda, but you are overwhelmed by some bizarre pain that we cant understand.

You've always come back from this before but Im so scared that youre gone for good and this baby will grow up without a mum.

When you went to Manila you left in a good mood. You bought a massive bag of $5 pearl bracelets from a sweet old lady you met. You gave them to beggars and child prostitutes until one night two men threw you against a wall, took your bag, ripped your necklace off and took your Pandora bracelet, covered in charms I bought you over three years of travel and adventures. They broke your arm from behind. You said you didnt feel a thing. 

You went to a travel agent somehow open at 4am and got home.

But you weren’t the same.


You never told me the whole story but somehow I think it is important that I don't know.