Whenever I dream of you I wake reminded of why you left and why I pushed you out. And yes, it was completely intentional.
And when I am mad at you I think of him. Not the “him” you might assume, but a him that I never had, that was never mine, but who had me while I was yours.
In the kitchen when it is drab out, the light above the sink is almost a spot light. I picture myself breaking into a sort of Joss Whedonesque song and dance as I am doing dishes contemplating life and woes. Silly considering the short list of woes. This is how people become desperate. This is where life becomes boring. This is why housewives develop a taste for wine and martinis.
The devil is in the mind. How it wanders and makes up scenarios. Coercing into false realities. And birthed from those faux thoughts comes deviant behavior, mistrust of those who have never wronged but backed by rationale and justifications built out of nothing.