10/09/15

It is easy to imagine him waiting for you when you get home, the way it is easy to think about something that obviously isn’t.

A polar bear in a swimming pool.

A carnival ride on a hill.

A boy in a dressing gown handing you a drink as you hang up your keys on a hook by the door.

You are both ordinary.

You were being a petulant child when you saw him the Monday before last because you were wearing a jumper you’d bought when you had been a fractious child.

Perhaps it was the jumper the whole time, you think. Perhaps you were just a child inside a petulant sweater that ate your hands and your waist.  

Maybe you had already been happy.

You suppose you could paint the walls grey.