Someday you'll get the best of me.

I don't know about any of it, all I know is that I had a moment to finally pause, one moment right now not assigned or delegated to some particular task and then thoughts I couldn't find before, words that never made much sense at all, fell into place. They came nicely packaged and more digestible than I could have ever fathomed. There was a point in time where I couldn't allow myself to think about him or me or us or any combination, but now it has become so common place, almost approaching natural. It's as if my ignorance of reality only served to dull my sensitivity to it. And so I spent my time avoiding reflection at every corner or chance encounter with consciousness.

We are playing one big game of make-believe, happily pretending that we fit snugly into the mold carefully crafted by dreams, hopes and wishes. And all I can think about is when this all will meet an awful, untimely death. Every time he questions, every time I become defensive over mostly nothing I wonder if that's it. Each time he leaves a message with the slightest intonation I think, how about now. Wondering if he knows and how he knows and when he found out and if he'll just make this all go away.

As he talks about the children he wants, the trips we'll take, the home improvements we'll make, I do my best to disguise my terror widened eyes. When did I ever want any of it. How did I stumble into these circumstances. The more I nod my head and agree, the easier it becomes to just say yes. Ideas, dreams and ambitions just float effortlessly away as if they never belonged to me. I have to ask, how can two people have such different ideas about how to live a life.

I just don't know how to get out or away or how to make everything right again.

Yesterday, words from half way around the world arrived. And a picture of a penguin too. It was short, merely reminding me that he's stuck in a mess of urbanism and that he's missing spending Sunday's at the lake watching people.

I wonder what would have happened if he'd never left.

Slowly, I've got to put these pieces back together. I have to slip back into the delusion, holding the key to an empire firmly between my fingers. I have to distract myself from discontent.