this is not about counting down from ten, because we both know that doesn't help. inhaling deeply through your mouth, exhaling from your nose, slowly. it's all pointless, because after finally crossing over, after you've straddled that damn line for that long, you can't turn back. it's not about the pills, which you take obediently, religiously every morning. the closest thing you've come to unconditional love. they think that will put you in the clear, in the green area, but the thing is -- the thing they don't know because they don't experience it -- that the colors are not red and green. they are black and white, which technically aren't colors at all. so that medication, for doctors would be brown, but for me and you it's grey, your legs are spread, one in black and one in white. your axis is on that line. sometimes it's more blurred than others.
so what is it about? fuck if i know. i guess it's about running away from knowing that she lives some other life now. well, i run away from that -- she's running away from knowing that every thread of my skin has touched hers. i'm completely aware that she thinks she's replaced me, but i know she still feels me.

i replace the knowing too, but at least i know i still feel her. this is how that replacement happens: it starts very quietly. no one listens, but everyone hears it. i listen. it's not a voice i recognize. i like it. that's the reason no one else listens, because it's unfamiliar. see, i crave unfamiliar. i crave foreign. i crave her now, but it's all replaced with unfamiliar. foreign. so i let it speak. the voice gets louder the more i allow it to speak. i'm not explaining this well. the voice is not really a voice. it's not something you can hear inside you, it's not something you can blame after all of this catches up with you and people ask why. they always ask why. and you can't say, because i was told to do it, because that's not true. and even though you've gotten very, very good at lying, this lie won't work.

this voice has been in my head for nine years. hers spoke over it for a while. but i still strained to listen. she asked why, and i told her the truth. i told her, it's because every part of me aches with hatred for every part of me. my body is a constant war zone, but i am no soldier. this is like being in bed with her, except the fight was for us, not against. i also told her i knew what i was doing. saying the opposite is yet another lie that doesn't work. believe me when i say: i knew exactly what i was doing. you know exactly what you are doing.

okay, so set a number. this is a number that will be so engrained in your bones, you'll dream about it in your sleep. that number means everything. it's more important than relationships, than friends, family, girlfriends like her. it's more important than living, which is the key. that's the crossover. you will weigh, count, calculate and make sure that you follow that number's set of laws. and god help you if you happen to overstep a boundary.

i don't ever remember her being on top of me. i didn't mind, because the fact that she wanted me there made me feel light. i liked her weight on me, though. i wonder if she noticed that my fingers moved the way i count calories. meticulously, specifically thought-out, but it's all instantaneous. maybe it only felt that way because time is a human construct, and time didn't exist with her.
time didn't exist until she had to leave.

time definitely exists when the food is gone. when you've simply, efficiently removed that small blip in your radar, washed your hands of it. things will be easier without it, you promise yourself. but when your body is eating itself and you can feel it, every minute is another lifetime. it gets easier, though. that's more than i can say for being alone. being without her. see, every day is not easier. time does not make things easier. time makes it all hurt more. time makes your throat sore, your chest tighter, your sobs louder and more uncontrollable.

it's funny, because we've completely made up this thing called time. and here we are, letting it direct us, letting it run our lives. we are not people anymore. we are not beings.
we are just slaves.