Simulation

Are you up?

I’m waiting for a bell to ring, my stomach to growl, my eyes to close, some sign that we are less than a universe away, held together by a loose, looping string of energy — mine, restless… yours, a persevering resignation

These strings of blues and greens tie me up with meaningless busy work, laundry on Wednesday, garbage Sunday, the ever-changing soccer schedule, a cold every week since December. Sheldon, I’m a soccer mom, can you believe it? I’m so tired all the time, but I’m dying too, so I must run faster, faster, the ghosts of our past don’t sleep and my knees hurt.

I reach out to touch the hem of his jacket, only he’s mourning a life he buried long before I took form. Every night, I tear the fabric of our comfort zone a little more.

 

When I dream, I beg, borrow, and steal one more day at this resort, old Hawaii. It is vast, full of the dead ancestors of our regrets, guest appearances to the Chainsmokers “Closer” soundtrack, a Nashville session musician, a former soap opera actress-turned-poker player, forgettable players compared to you. Everyone says goodbye at this terminal.

The water is orange, the hallways gold, my son goes to elementary school at every port of call — they know him from here to Portland and Aiea, my alma mater, my new beginning. They always welcome him with smiles and hugs, and I never need to apologize with an absentee mark.

I always lose the key, I always mistake these strangers for you.

Please don’t die yet.

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