Zelda from Telling by Friend of My Youth

So I’ll go. I’ll slip back home. I pull the chain, I listen in. These walls are sick with sound I nearly understand. But your circumstances often have kept me up all night. I rest my head in the corner. I get close.

You and I, we’re not alike. You lashing out, I turn inside. But I have existed in the difference between not trying to and trying not to be unanswered questions for my friends and family. It’s a distinction that’s more than clear to me.

And I don’t know who’s in my house when I’m not home but I’m not out. That line is dead, but I’ll take my chances. I take what I can get, when I can stand it.

If only, if it were up to me I’d leave you here to haunt this house with someone else. I’d take the short way down, level the place on my way out, leave no change of address. It’ll be better then, I guess. But then there’s April 26, 1972: your uncles shaking hands, your room set up for you.

This house is clean, I know you know. I forced the key but I can’t go. I dragged myself across the floor.

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