I am looking at the eye
At the space where the eye is meant to be.
It is blank. Dead.
Like an abandoned place.
Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t wink at me
Like it used to do.
No flashing-green come-on.
Nothing.
It has been swallowed by a black hole
Of indifference.
It isn’t as though we just met.
Why doesn’t she text, or phone?
Shelby was disgusted.
She would sleep that night in the refrigerator.
She admired its stern solidity.
At least the mice couldn’t get to her.
And if she felt like a midnight snack, she wouldn’t have far to go.
She hopped in.
It wasn’t long before her teeth began chattering. That would keep her awake. Give her away if he was still in the house.
So she bit down on a leg of lamb.
That seemed to work.
She drifted off dreaming of sheep in thick woolen jumpers serially hurdling fences.
Let go, he says. Let go.
Let go?
Yes, you have to let go. I give you permission.
So I do.
I let go of all the baggage I have built up over the years.
I feel so light I have to be tethered to the earth like a hot air balloon.
