If I went back far enough, I could create a whole list
but I don't want to look back at that again.
"Something doesn't exist here," I say to myself,
"no voice to cry suffering,"
something that doesn't exist until you say that it does.
Something that I reject until you split me right open.
The greatest lie you've ever told me
was something I thought I'd prepared for.
If I could stretch the past back, back a couple years, what would I say?
What existed there? Do I really want to know?
Was it two AM? Three AM? Jazz band in four and a half hours?
I'm twisting my fingers together. "Something doesn't exist here." "Something ended." In memory. In memory. In memory of you.
(It's a room with three doors.)
(Pick the leftmost one. Can't reach for it. "Connection terminated," the scrolling letters read. You can still remember what it looked like, can't you, though?)
(Pick the rightmost one. The door opens. The ground doesn't exist past the door. Islands, having once fallen from the sky, now sit there. That's pretty odd, isn't it? Close the door. This isn't a door.)
(Pick the middle one. "Something doesn't exist here." "What are you talking about?" Something ugly and silver is lurking in the water, in the petals, in the grass, in the wind. Clocks are made of brass. Brass? What are clocks made of? Slam the door shut, open it another couple hundred times. Pretend you can still see yourself in the grove. "Something doesn't exist here." Too much metal in the sky. Slam the door shut, open it another couple hundred times.)
(It's a room with three doors.)
(Leave the room with three doors.)
(Find that the rooms never end.)
(Season XI. "Room game.")
I swore on it. Sand. Something tastes like sand. Something tastes like (cookies?? cookies???? COOKIES??????? in this economy?!) something that doesn't exist. Something tastes like spiders (spiders) in the basement. Something tastes like something that never ends. (It has no taste at all; pathetic.) Something tastes like peppermint and coffee. Something tastes like chocolate. Something tastes like dried citrus. Something tastes like birthday cake. Something tastes like a blue light.
Something smells like perfume. Something smells like it's burning. Something smells like the beach.
Something looks like [REDACTED] like [REDACTED] like [REDACTED] I can't tell what it is anymore.
I still hear it. Waves. A grand piano. Something doesn't exist here.
If I try my hardest, could I reach out and touch it again?
No. I already know the taste.
Here--it's the greatest lie ever told.
Is it happiness? Is it longing? Is it rejection?
...WHAT WAS IT AGAIN?