still have you within me.
[sound: sniff sniff sniff]
You stopped coming in to my flat.
You arranged to pick the children up from downstairs.
From outside.
From out of my view.
I can't see you from here.
I don't like to leave my black box.
I have no reason to leave it.
But.
Sometimes you telephone and you must speak to me.
And you use those ailing soft and sugary tones.
Your tone is soft and warm.
You pretend to care.
~You were always good at pretending.~
Because there is always a reason for your telephone call.
There is always a need within your telephone contact with me.
Gain.
You seek to gain.
The gain is never mine.
I have nothing to gain.
I have nothing outside of this black box.
My children exist within my memories.
They are no longer real.
They died.
~I know that they still breathe.~
They died within my life.
They exist within memories that I prefer not to visit.
You left.
You left us all.
I cannot recall memories after you left.
I choose not to force them.
I cannot open the door.
I cannot communicate outside of my box.
This box.
My black box.
~Can you hear my words?~
[silence]
~Am I trapped?~
~Do I have an alternative?~
~Is there a resolution to be found?~
The door is closed.
But it will open.
I could open it.
The window has locks.
They are not fastened.
I could open them.
[sound: a yawn]
But I am trapped.
Trapped within the visuals.
Performing within memories.
Experiencing the rawness of emotions from events that should be buried.
That will soon be buried.
In a grave.
With me.
~with us.~
[sound: sobbing]
But you did come back.
You came back tonight.
You came back to kill me.
I need to sleep.
[fifteen second silence]
The memory.
This lack of structure is worrying.
I have altered my way of being.
End.
Middle.
Beginning.
Beginning.
End.
Middle.
The working backwards endwards, forwards, middlewards.
It is somewhat distressing.
The memory was paused within the visual of a me and a you.
In between the twisted wrought iron gate, with the thick paint broadening the bars and your red front door.
~Was your front door red?~
[silence]
We are motionless.
A single breath will gust us over.
Us.
[sound: a loud sigh]
But.
I can't recall the weather.
I can't recall the sky.
[voiced: my memory is falling]
[volume: low]
Let's say that it was red.
That the clouds were red in the pale blue sky.
Details are often insignificant in the backward workings from here to somewhere before there.
And.
Let's say that your arms wrapped around me.
That's a true fact.
I can feel the sensation.
My stiff body and rigidly straight arms by my side. And that was when you told me, everything is going to be ok.
[voiced: everything is going to be ok]
[volume: low]
In warm tones.
In what I believed to be warm tones.
I believed it then.
I
