What a shame!
I felt things I shouldn’t. With you not here.
I said things I wouldn’t. With you unaware.
I did things I couldn’t. With you elsewhere.
You were not around to see. For you had left a lot before me.
I pulled a skull from the cupboard and cleaned it up.
I pretended it was you when I was lonely.
Heart out, lips sealed, I offered you some cake.
A cold silence followed.
For you had left before you finished dessert.
This was the cake you never ate.
I spent hours negotiating with her. Telling her what to do, how to do it and when to do it. It was a tiring ritual that I had gotten used to over the past 20 odd years. Day in and day out, I found that I was repeating myself. The words tumbled out in the same fashion, the material stopped changing. The patterns, however, remained. I never learned. I persisted, painstakingly. Eventually, it dawned on me that it was pointless. A lie rather. It was in my head after all. That is the biggest problem when you negotiate with the dead. The response is stoic. Zilch. Nada.