On A Beautiful Life

is this how you, whatchamacallit? manifest?

Imagine a bedroom of your own with no one to share it with. Imagine a kitchen with a window which lets in the sunlight and the rain. A soft bed, a softer glow of the lamp, a body which lets you rest without guilt. Last night I cried in your arms but it did not feel familiar. Imagine that not happening; what I mean is, imagine comfort, and our bodies knowing each other forever and ever. Blue coloured curtains and red coloured throw pillows and guests to entertain. Laughter and a little of your drink spilling on our second hand carpet which I washed two nights ago. Imagine you moving towards me, mumbling apologies and kissing me in front of everyone. My eyes rimmed with kohl, and your hair tousled because I like it that way. Now imagine something filthy being whispered in your ears, and then it’s past party time, and everyone is going back home. A drunken stupor hanging in the air, you turn to me to ask me to stay. But you don’t have to, we’re here, in this cluttered living room, together. The dishes can be done tomorrow. The bed seems inviting but you and I are already sinking to the floor. Unclasp me. Now imagine all of this being real. Now go back to your life, it’s alright. Goodbye.