Living in a Horror Movie

The man raps on my bedroom door.

Struggles with a door that sticks.

The door opens and I see a figure, a shadow of the man I used to know.

Bent and small.

Resentful, irritated and annoyed I twist my neck to look at him

He holds a flannel sheet we used as a table cloth to cover a small table for the yard sale

Almost 13 years and he still needs to ask where things go

I hate this about him, about us.

It’s a tell. We never really lived together. Not in the real sense of togetherness.

I feel the resentment most in such scenarios. All those years gone. Never to get back.

After the encounter I fell regret, guilt and shame. And somewhat lonely.

I stayed out of need.
And got comfortable.
Way too comfortable.
Wasted much time and clung to a parent, possibly an uncle or maybe an older sibling I never had.

He’s so small now, like he’s been swallowed up.

I feel like a monster, so angry and ruining his life as much as my own.

I mourn for both of us.

Because we both could’ve done better and those opportunities are long gone. The full faced dude, from 20 years ago is but a stranger.  That guy is gone. What’s left is an old man who still works like he’s 30. No rest and no time.

I hang on like a parasite, wanting to do something but not clear on what to do. I want to change…everything.