There are ants all over my counter. Climbed out from the crack between the dishwasher and the wall. up the lip of the granite counter top and strait to a lid of sugar water where twenty or so ants have drowned. but these ants are smarter. They perch on the lip, their feelers moving frantically as they slowly lower down and drink. Drink till their abdomens are swollen and golden when the light passes through. they depart in a line the way they came, their heavy bodies only making it slightly more difficult to descend the sheer vertical edge of the countertop. More and more come, seeking this oasis to bring back to their colony, but little do they know it will soon be the end of them. They taste the sweetness, not the sharpness of borax, the stench of death they're carying back to their children and their lovers, assuming the dosage isn't to high and they die before they make their way back, having travelled many ant miles only to be burned from the inside with the harsh chemicals of human creation.
Don't give up. I'm only starting to see the gravity of your situation. the extent of your damnation. In short I don't blame you for your frivolous disposition. I blame myself for not being enough to change it. That came out wrong. I can't, nor do I want to, change you. I just wish I was insentive enough to make you wish to change. Or maybe change is non-existant. I want you to grow. You're playing a static and stagnant role whilst I am flourishing and thriving. I know I'm not the same as I was when we were first in love, but the change is amplified relative your inert stance. I've always cared about you, but that too has been altered by the hand of circumstance. I've known countless feelings for you, attachment, love, lust, caring, anguish, concern. I've always felt something for you. Now it's stronger than ever before. No more silly juvenile notions of "love". I care for you like a sister, a mother, a lover, a friend. You say you don...
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