BY ELISE TAKEHANA
I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that — everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer.
I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been.
62 A’S, 16 B’S, 19 C’S, 25 D’S, 101 E’S, 11 F’S, 20 G’S, 41 H’S, 66 I’S, 0 J’S, 6 K’S, 31 L’S, 15 M’S, 58 N’S, 65 O’S, 18 P’S, 0 Q’S, 32 R’S, 33 S’S, 71 T’S, 21 U’S, 17 V’S, 19 W’S, O X’S, 29 Y’S, 0 Z’S
To the voyeur,
V, you like to watch the world and its people bathe in feeling. We’re the blip in a wide universe, the cosmic accident only there because you want to peer into bitten hearts, into empty lives reflected in the TV screen, the iPhone screen. I’m sorry that you are lonely in that big tangle of dark matter. I bet you’d love to touch someone, maybe feel a whisper on your neck. V, so far away you can only watch.
That is fine. We are still spinning, again, again and again, teetering on an invisible oval. I envy your view. The gyre of worn opals, the pathway beyond time, the itching tic of isolation grew. You felt each boom, every gash, V. How it did hurt. Nothing is smooth beneath words on a page, V. Nothing may have eaten all being had you not peeked beyond the edge. Too bad it was a pit, a pit, pit, pit.
You the echo; we the Narcissus. One day, V, I’ll be a star again, a cluster of dust in nowhere, and I’ll kiss your eyelids, hum a faint song. The imbedded poem might implode. I, I, how I love you.