“Saying something over and over again is a mantra. You’re trying to convince yourself that it’s true, but it’s not.”
She started crying.
“You know, you’re so perfect when you’re yourself instead of struggling to be something you’re not.”
“And you’re basically an asshole twenty-four seven.”
He watched the spider crawl across the ceiling, thinking it had as much right to exist as him. Which is to say, none at all.
Inhuman lessons. The first, people are nothing more than biological machines. The second, like any machine, they come apart when you pull hard enough.
How many times now? Hundreds? Still the crowd screamed, “Encore, encore!”
But they still screamed, for her songs, for her. And so Sisyphus smiled.
“Verb – perceive or experience the flavor of. Noun – a person’s liking for particular flavors.”
He wondered what her tastes were.
They made ghosts of each other, fading in and out of each other’s lives like spirits that couldn’t decide if they’d been exorcised or not.
He woke up face down in a puddle of vomit, body shaking like a spastic’s. Amidst a chorus of clinking glass he whispered, “Never again.”
She could feel it perched on her chest, suffocating her, claws digging into her skin. “Please,” it said, voice trembling. “You have to wake up.”
All the years after she’d stopped being his girl, she could still say a thing so beautiful, so perfect that it moved him to tears.