she wants to buy a house, she says, but not
with me, to live in it. In fact, it’s quite
the opposite of sharing that she’s after.
she wants to buy a house against me
a shield of bricks embedded in a mental forest,
remote, unwelcoming, the epitome
of separation. an island in an island,
somewhere so far away there’d be
no train, no bike, no car, no boat
no human way to reach it.
no need to furnish it, as well,
as it would serve its purposes devoid.
it is, perhaps, too big a name, a house. a space
with walls. she would just be there,
with her forehead resting on the coldness
of the floor, eyes closed, pretending I do not
exist, not anywhere, not anymore,
taking an incommensurable pleasure
in exploring such a thought. she’d fill
all rooms with it - my non-existence -
perfectly inhabiting the idea of my extinction
making herself comfortable
in the spacious notion of my absence,
as if it were a bed, a crib, an armchair.
only then, she says, would she allow herself to call
and be bewildered by an almost tactile,
physical experience: that of my voice,
still coming through:
                                       «hello? »