Vanity Loss

She was crying.

I remember that much. So don’t tell me that I don’t care. I do care. A lot. Perhaps more than you. More than anyone in this pathetic excuse for a planet. Because no matter how hard we try. It is just an empty room. A breezy window. An indent in your grandmother’s couch. Whatever. But I care. I do. Really.

Because she used to mean a lot to me. So much that I could tell you how many hairs were on her head. The rate in which her fingernails grew. I could repeat her ever word. No matter how long ago it was that she said them. And I could kiss her with my eyes open. So I could measure the space between every eyelash.

Don’t call me pathetic. Or obsessive. You wish you were me. That’s right. Even I know that much. You wish you had my talents. My knowledge. You wish you could care as much as I do. As I did. As I probably will. For I can hear the future. And it tells me what you thought. Which is what you’re thinking.

Her dreams were so tangible. So touchable. I didn’t know dreams could do that. Until I met her. That is. She would come to me every night. And whisper to me while I slept. She said I was wonderful. I was beautiful. I was perfect. She said that someday I would see the world as it really is. Dead. And I would be grateful. And I would be glad.

Well. I am grateful. And I am glad. And I am perfect. No matter what you accuse. Because my room is filled. My window is shut. And my grandmother’s couch is perfectly upholstered. And I actually live on this planet. And while you waste your time. Accusing me of uncaring. I am claiming it as my own.

Of course she gave me the world. So eager too. She ripped it from her fingers like nails. And laid it upon me. Called me a god. And she laughed. And laughed. And all she could do was laugh. And press her bloody fingers into her sides. Her eyes rolled back. And burning tears fell. I suppose it is called mirth.

And though my back is sore from the weight. I am grateful. And I am beautiful. And though I am alone. Alone in the empty room. Filled with my presence. Next to the breezy window. Shut by my emotions. Sitting on the worn couch of my grandmother’s. Covering up the blemishes. I am happy. And I don’t need you.

I don’t need your revelations. Your epiphanies. I don’t need the way you smile out of the corner of your mouth. I don’t need the way your hands burn on my skin. And I definitely don’t need the way your voice pierces through my personal silence. Because I am happy. And I am happy. And I don’t need you to tell me that I am not.

Even if it is true. But if I don’t know that. Then you definitely don’t. Because I know more than you. And. If you know anything. You know that much is true. You call me ignorant. But you don’t even know what ignorance means. And just because I can’t remember her name. Can’t remember what she looked like. Can’t remember how many hairs were on her head. The rate in which her fingernails grew. Or even what she said to me. I remember what she meant when she gave me the world. Gave me the burden.

And you’re jealous. That you can’t feel this righteous weight. Can’t feel the heavenly pain. And though you tell me it’s not worth it. What do you know. You know nothing. But we’ve covered that already. And I am not one to repeat myself. I don’t need to. A room can’t listen. A window can’t reply. And a decrepit couch definitely doesn’t care what I have to say.

And even if they could. They wouldn’t be worth listening to. Just as you are not worth listening to. I have everything I could ever need. Myself. And even you know that is more than enough. So you can just leave. Because this room is too full to fit you. And the air is too thin to hold you. And the couch is too perfect to seat you.

And when I see your turned back. I’ll laugh. Just as she did. And I’ll put the world on your shoulders. Just as she did. And I’ll call you a god. And I will look at my bloody hands and laugh at you. Laugh at the room. Laugh at the window. Laugh at the couch. And laugh at this pitiable excuse for a planet.

Until happiness is an excuse that I will never need again.