We Don’t Talk About That

There is something in the water. There is something inside

of the walls. There is something inside of me shaped like you.

There is water between us, but we don’t talk about that. There is something

holding me under, but we don’t talk about that. There is someone

better than me, but we don’t talk about that.

I can build something for you. A sailboat, a machine. I can build

someone better for you. I can build us a world

with no graveyards. You told me that the dead don’t always stay dead. I can

build us a world where no one dies and we all live forever. That would be

lovely, wouldn’t it? Darling, come back to bed. You’re having another nightmare.

What is it this time? Did you dream about her? Did you dream about the water? Did you dream about

the monster inside of the walls? I never said it was a monster.

You never said I was a monster, but you told me that I have to start listening. That’s one of the

worst things about you. I love you, but you have to listen to me. I love you, but you have to trust me.

We don’t talk about that. I don’t

trust. There is something

floating in the water. There is something inside of me,

shaped like a box. Open the box. Close the box. Burn the box.

There are some things that have to remain secret. There are some things

that you keep hidden away, because she’s already having a bad day and she doesn’t

need to know that her father hurt her mother, that her father

won’t be coming home, that her father

will be dead soon.

There is something

that I can’t tell you.

There are some things that you keep to yourself, like how I’m keeping

the love I have for you to myself. I keep it in a box. I keep it in a

hole, shaped like you.

“I said you can trust me. I am sick of you

eating the truth, swallowing it down and baring your teeth, like a monster.”

You don’t want to know.

I never stopped loving you, but you can’t say that kind of thing to

someone. I know you loved me, too, but we don’t talk about that.

I am a jealous, enraged thing, and I always have been. I know you

loved me, too, but you didn’t want to admit it. That’s okay. We all

have secrets. Some things

don’t work out. You learn these things when you grow up.

Things are never permanent. You still

think about me. There is something

dead inside of your house, and I think it’s my fault.

There is something

inside of the walls.

There is something

that I haven’t said yet.

Open the box. Close the box. Burn the box.

There is something

that I haven’t said yet,

but we don’t talk about that.