I don’t even think I believe in all of this…
It’s been 6 months and 27 really intense therapy sessions with my psychologist, Since I’ve heard your voice, since you sat on the couch watching TV I absolutely can’t (won’t) delete the last Facebook message you sent me It made me laugh. Inappropriate humor we both enjoyed And, I responded, but you were dead before you could read it
I’ve been told not to use it alone, but I use it alone I don’t even think I believe in all of this… Through wood, via a glass overlay and a pentagram planchette Ornately inscribed, with beautiful markings and elegant fonts It’s lovely An ancient telephone line waiting for a dial tone
I search YouTube for appropriate background mood music Because I’m dramatic like that I light candles of various colors, their flames flickering with supernatural hope I sit the board upon my lap, as instructed by a 1980s horror film I say “Hello”. “Hello, my friend”. “It’s me, and I fucking miss you” I suspect you wouldn’t believe it’s me without the profanity
I sit, still and alone…I very much want to believe, I need to believe right now I so very desperately need to believe this fucking thing works A tether that links you and me for one last time – for a few more final words All I really want to say is “thank you”, so you’ll know how much I loved you I just want to thank you for being in my life while you were here I need you to know how important you were and are and will be always With this wooden and glass board upon my lap, I convey a message to you I convey it now…
I convey it now (the planchette is moving, are you responding?) I convey it now (the board spells “Love”) I convey it now (the board becomes silent)
I remove my fingertips from the planchette I don’t even think I believe in all of this… I remove my fingertips from the planchette Because I am not mentally ready to hear or see or say “Goodbye” Violent tears spill upon the wooden flooring of my bedroom at the thought
I don’t think I could fucking handle that
