Tut, Tut, Tut. I’m too easy to get along with. I think this is because my smiles are autonomic blinks. The walls of myself, transparent as they are, keep people in and out on command, for they are there for protection. I think I’ve decided what to do about her.

Last night, in the dead of it, I was cleaning between the cracks’ cracks. The windows were closed and the ammonia began to become the air, flooding my body with each sweaty breath. In my dizziness, I knocked over the lamp, my only one, and it smacked the wood panels and flickered off. The darkness began to frighten me. I bravely swiped the floor around for the lamp. The bulb was hot and burnt my fingers, which I stuck into my mouth to soothe.

I liked to keep the room dark so that visitors never came, especially her, even though I knew people had stopped coming years ago. But without my one source of light, the darkness filled my chest with emptiness and fear. I started to imagine figures sneaking up behind me and knocking me down. Then I started to imagine a man’s fingers around my throat, choking me, and I was still alone. I swayed my arms, using my hands as eyes in the blackness.

I found the drawer, took out a few candles and a matchbook, and lit them immediately. Tut. No flame. Tut, Tut. No Flame. Tut, Tut, Tut. At first, the fire frightened me and I blew it out. I had gotten used to the darkness so much, I suppose. My heart started to beat faster after experiencing the light. I waited for my calm heart.

I never once took her for granted, so why is she in my dreams. Unwelcome with warm hugs. I tell her, don’t cry. It’s not the season. You shouldn’t waste it on the barren land. But she can’t help it, it’s just the hormones. You can save the teardrops in a flask, drink her up or feed the selfish land. I mostly remember the times when she was bored, and that’s what was most interesting. I told myself, if I love her, don’t comfort it, don’t fix it. Just bear. I had control, I told myself. Tut, Tut, Tut.

I lit a match again and saw the inside of my room. It had been awhile in darkness that I noticed how changed it had become. No longer was my leather reading chair as big as it had once looked. My perception of the ceiling had changed as well, it appeared lower, and I had to duck to get through the doorways. I lit one of the two candles and walked around, looking at the photographs on the wall. There was one of her and I. I said aloud, there’s me on the left and you on the right. Just like the way we slept at night. And that’s me holding the fish you caught because you were too scared to touch the scales. I thought we were such a team. I looked at another photograph. It was only her on a bench, sitting far from me, reading a book. I remember we were eating brunch, but you had lost interest in the food in me. Simple as that.

I looked at the candle in my palm. The wax was blood red and the wick was white and lonely. I set it on fire. I watched the relationship build, the fire engulfing the wick and the wick sucking in the fire. The time passed outside, the winds grew and became soft again. The rains and snow came and left and came again. Then the candle finally shortened and I had been so happy watching the development that my misery was not a surprise. As the light began to flicker and fade, so did the existence of the wick and the flame. Only the wax remained, the outer layer that the wick had escaped. And then, there were only skeletons.