There was a place where I lived in my head of what might have been. In this special place, all of the destructive, distressing memories that I’d created in my mind came together to build a metropolis of people I used to know. Here in this place if pretend, I could replay scenes from The Story of Kisha, adding things that never happened and even creating interactions that never occurred. In this place of what might have been, I often revisited one house more than others. For the purpose of the privacy of others, let’s call this place the House of Bug.
At first in the House of Bug, I would go back to him. He never found her; he married me. I would spend hours engulfed in the fantasy of what if….what if we’d had the baby, what if I hadn’t told him it was over that night, what if he had stayed to begin with. It was miserable. I would always end up crying and lonely.
The next phase of life in the House of Bug, I entered into righteous indignation–he HAD left me, and so all these years later he would see me and fall in love all over again. He would swoon at the presence of my light–even as I demurely turned him away in favor of my true love, the one and only. He would boldly confess his love for me in front of my husband and children as they all shook their heads at his folly. I would tell him that I would always have a special place in my heart…and then magnanimously wave his furious wife on as she tried to hide her embarrassment. These fantasies were the sweetest and most delusional. I knew he was happy; he is also very smart–if he ever saw me again, he’d go the other way before an opportunity struck for drama.
Some time had passed and things had changed again. I rarely visited that house anymore… actually, my false world had begun to show more than average disrepair, as I do not spend time there at all. I found myself straining tonight for the only familiar pain that I felt when visiting him there in my mind… in my heart, I felt the slightest pressure, almost as though my mother were wiping something off my cheek–and then… nothing. I felt nothing. And it felt good.
I decided to close up and condemn my vain imaginings this year. I want to think on things that are true, lovely, and of good report. I want to enjoy the life that I have and not wonder about what might have been. I want to prepare for what will be rather than pretending what could have been. I’m almost there.