Traitor

 He will not come back. He’d better be not coming back. Last night, when I revealed my little secret to him, he found out I was as innocent as a sheep. Right now I know. He came checking his story was safe. That I didn’t find him guilty. That the news weren't displayed to me, yet. But they did. The news are as light as heavy. 

I’m sitting on the garden bench. An hour ago I was elated, ruefully contemplating how the gritty dust in the fields was dancing. In this odd state of critical mind, I allegedly discovered his mystery. The dog is running chasing birds and butterflies. I’ve covered my body in glitter, and my sight is pointing in the right corner to strike whichever car is driving by the front road of the house.

The world without end, he is not coming back. But, possibly, maybe he solely took the other road. Ten minutes ago I was sinking in the bathtub, singing with my lungs and window open. I heard some neighbours walking down the street. I again hear a car. The dog runs to it without barking.

I think Alma is just sneaking her nose under the garage portal. The doves fly out of the bell tower. All in once. An eternal image of peace in this inner hell.

I can’t direct my sunken eyes off of the impossible road. Other dogs are barking furiously in the shallow depths of this vast landscape. Alma isn’t causing any sound at all. She sat next to me, soaking in this late-afternoon sunlight. I swear to... I don’t know who... But, if he doesn’t enter back in this house, it will represent he knows I know. And the terrible guilt he swallowed like a death pill, will haul him to be unable to drive anymore.

Another car crosses the lane. But it’s pitch-black. His is grey. And it came reluctantly from the contrary direction.

Scarcely guessing... if he isn’t aware of my discovery, that now I own the knowledge. How can I confess my truth?Last night I was dancing in his arms and my trustful flesh and bone mind decided to thank, to be thankful for believing in him again. 

Oh... But oh well. He was just a smuggler, a thief, a taker. He tricked me, again, again and again, efferently. I feel like the grown lemon hanging from the thin and fragile tree branch. Enough victimism. I shut the phone down. I am isolated and sheltered. Luckily, I felt so robbed, so numb that I didn't have a chance to cry. I sang by open throat any lyrics about being cheated and abandoned, fooled like he did to me. I am thankful he was only able to grasp the words. However, he couldn't take the imagination, the superstition, the boldness. The late-bloomed and still in construction sense of awareness.

He isn't coming, eventually. I know. He knows.He knows. But if he'd come, he'd better bring the wine. I want to bare his chest, convince the doves to fly away from the palm trees. I am thankful he was only able to grasp the words. Alma is almost sleeping in the sun. That was a black jack win. Alma starts barking but it isn't him. He is probably scared and hiding somewhere far from me. Perhaps regretting and trying to fake that he didn't commit any crime. His head is buried in the grounds, and I can tell he is probably walking without wearing his eyes.

Once he completed the mission and had defeated me, he left for good. Far away. Another car. Opposing direction. A lizard walked scared through the fence. No dog is barking. Kids from the house next door are skating. I can hear the wheels scratching the concrete. My skin is glooming, the sun is hiding. I can see the sea shore from where I am. I'm on a highland. My eyes on the road, the garage door won't stop thumping. The dog screams happily at the wind, to the nothingness. No one is coming around, anymore. I merely hope I don't get overwhelmed and nostalgic... Or starting romanticizing my own predator. I am pathetically waiting for someone who  easily rips my soul in any second and forsakes me - anytime, anywhere…

Voiceless, numbered, bloodless.

If the truth is inside me, why do I wait for my chance to discharge it? How can I find joy in what wrecks me the most? In the one who is my enemy, the most dangerous companion, the less confiding human I know, the Judas from my own Bible? I'm not saying I see myself as a martyr. I endure shaming. I've sinned, many times. I don't have faith. I shrined. I took for granted my destiny and sold it to cheap businessmen. I evaded my truth because I am never responsible. I renegade my right to defend myself in front of any Honor. And now I got stuck in the middle of the fields, watching how the dust is, as well, running from me. My eyes are crazy obsessed expecting any sort of movement in the road. I hear motors. The engines are getting furious. 

But it isn't him, he is not coming back. He knows I know. He knows I planned to sabotage him. I want my voice, my blood, my sex back. I didn't have the guts to resist and bear this loneliness. I checked the phone. No call. No sign. No crime. I have nothing but five cigarettes left. This means I have to walk to the gas station. Another Camel, please. I am spending too much desperate time, too much reckless youth, too much raw energy. This garage door won't allegedly stop hitting. I naively think Alma is sneaking her nose under, again.

Another car, I can't tell from where it's coming, my mind is blurry. But it's not driving hither. The grass isn't trimmed, and the water from the filthy pool is murky. I think I never heard the bell tower sound. The house is next to a cemetery. My dorm has the window in front of it. I am having plenty of ghastly nightmares lately. 

This time I wasn't betrayed, neither deceived. I tricked myself alone. Peculiar magic. The petty criminal always knows how to lateralize the guilt to others. I bear the guilt like a burning cross. Happy Easter. The eggs were smashed in my face - I don't know if I will register this anymore.