Cosmonauts
I should have said yes. I should have just said yes, to happiness, to love. I didn’t though. I’m stubborn and annoying and don’t believe in love. So I said no and now here I sit, in a nightmare of utter chaos, my country falling to pieces around me, chasing memories that don’t exist.
Because I said no.
But here’s a game I like to play at night, when I should be sleeping: what if I’d said yes?
Who knows where we could be. If I’d said yes. A couple of cosmonauts. if I’d said yes.
maybe we would be happy and safe in New Zealand, can you even imagine. Living a normal life again. Looking for hobbits and gray old wizards. Writing stories and making love.
Or maybe we’d be somewhere in the UK. London? Can you even imagine. Yes I know. It’s not as safe as NZ, but at least the seasons are not backwards and it would be London. The first, the original New England. A train ride to anywhere.
Astoria? Probably not. Magical and fun to think about, but definitely not safe. (No where is safe here anymore, maybe not ever again, even if he loses.) But I like to imagine some rickety old house with stairs and porches and rain on the roof, all night long, and a scratchy record player, secrets tucked away in an attic, and we’re dancing softly, quietly, in the dark.
It’s late. don’t go there. Not tonight. Don’t play the game. Just sleep, okay? The headaches are finally gone, you fought them all week long and they’re gone and tomorrow comes. Close your eyes, let the rest go. You said no and tomorrow is here now, so sleep. there will be another time another world another dream, and you will say yes but tonight tonight just sleep.