Bookmark #281

If I were to let you in, I wonder if you’ll see beyond the neatly arranged boxes, parallel to the rug, parallel to the couch, each lined properly with the tiling on the floor. Will you tell me how I have a beautiful place? That, it isn’t expected of people my age—especially men—to possess such fastidiousness. That, no, no, it’s a good thing and that, you meant it as a compliment.

Will you appreciate how well the colours go together, or will you notice how there’s nothing but hues of blue and grey around? I wonder if you’ll see how the jacket on the couch is thrown in a controlled mess, as if it wasn’t thrown at all. What about how everything is almost always in the right place? Will that pique your interest?

Or will you see beyond the neatly arranged mugs in the cabinet and the symmetry and the lines? Will you see how every drawer and box hides a mess of its own? Will you see the chaos without the order masking it?

I wonder what you’ll see when you see me from that point on—all with the clear thought, the articulation, the drive, the bland routines, the elaborate plans. I wonder if you’ll see what I see in the mirror.

If I were to let you in, will you see the ruin? Will you choose to walk by it, pretending you saw nothing?