Counterstroke

I’ll shout your name but I won’t say I’ll remember it. I’ll take it as it is. But to begin with, I have to know what this is. I’ll find out.

Do you think it would matter to me if I found out this isn’t real? Do you think this is my world? Do you think that I bleed? The question really is, do you think?

I do.

I drink, I smoke, I breathe. I sleep, I get up, I move, I run. I’m messed, I’m jaded, I throw up, I call you, but you need to know that whether or not you come, I’ll live and won’t run after you if it were up to me. I know that I’m alive although you may not, but don’t dare tell me you don’t know that I feel. I’ve shown enough. Would you ask for more?

I’m messed. How do you like it? Give me the freedom to assume you are hooked. Then give me the freedom to think that this is all a bad game. Now think.

How do you know that it has become real? Or should I even ask? Are you interested to find out? Or is that too heavy for your head?

I know you’d rather sleep. With all the places we went to and the things we had to deal with, you’re tired. It’s been another day. Go to bed now. Close your eyes and forget. We’ll play again soon. We have the reason to. Give me the privilege to assume that you made sure of it.

Go to bed now and tomorrow when you wake up, wake up to Monday as if it were any other day because the sun will shine on you like it always does, you get up and hit the shower, drink a glass of water and before you put on your shirt, light a stick and think about your neat little game. You may think about your next move and think about me in it, if you so choose, if you think at all, but just before you step right out of that door, you will stand before the mirror. You will look at the reflection but do not be surprised if – with all your presumptions about who’s in control – it will be me that you see.

Then I’ll hear you call my name.