One Last Wish, A Tasty Fish

This is the part where I die. I get to see it over and over again. It’s the part right after you break up with me. It’s the part right before you started worshiping me. Myself, I would be happier if those two moments were reversed.

How it goes is we start eating at the little place down south a ways and you’re distant. You’re barely touching that salad with the piece of tuna. I know something is wrong because when raspberry vinaigrette, goat cheese and tuna steak intersect that’s where your happiness is. You’re not looking at me. All I can see is that straight black and long shampoo commercial you always sport.

You’re slender hands don’t know what to do so they fiddle with the cellphone. I remember that neither us tend to eat lunch at noon. This place is crowded and I know exact why we’re here. You speak diplomatically and I become very aware that you’re lowering the boom.

“Simon, I think,”

“You know.” I correct her, I can be a dick when being dumped.

“Fine, I know. Does that makes you happy?”

“Julie, happy’s sort of moot right now. Just trying to take a bit of flesh with me.”

“God, is this really a surprise? Can you hear yourself?”

“I don’t care, I’m done.”

I lied on both accounts, the latter was slightly more relevant as I was still hungry. I put down my half of the bill and made my grand pissy exit. I’m out the door and I’ve stopped, and I’m thinking about how I left you and how your how that’s a terrible way to end it. I think about a redo, but sometimes you don’t get a second chance to say farewell.

You should be saying farewell right now, I’m leaving pretty soon. It sort of feels like the ground’s suddenly at a slant and for a moment. My vision gets a bit blurry and then I’m dead. You’re screaming out the door and then I’m being cradled in your wonderful rack. Shame I can’t enjoy that but I’m not exactly there at the moment.

When you here the phrase subdural hematoma, you’re a little confused. It’s explained to you, that I bled out suddenly in a tiny little place in my head. He says it’s not your fault, it was probably due to that fall I took two days prior. You think, If only I salted the sidewalk outside. It’s not your fault Julie and I wish you’d accept that.

Well now you’ve gone and given up and I’m stuck here. I’m a remorseful shade of who Simon was and I’m trying so desperately to get you to stop crying. You don’t talk to anyone, you just emotionally flagellate yourself with unfair what if scenarios. You don’t do anything but grieve for me, that man who walked out on you in a hissy fit and promptly died. If nothing else, could you please just try and remember that tuna steak? It looked so tasty and I’m still hungry.


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