The Stranger in my Apartment
There’s a stranger living in my apartment.
I have him for a roommate.
I can’t specifically recall when I let him move in, but I do remember bits and pieces.
I guess I can say that it started out like any other relationship I have ever had: Slow.
I started seeing him here and there when things got too difficult to handle. It was a comfort to have someone there for me, someone I wouldn’t have to explain ever minute detail of my life. He understood. I mean, how could he not?
He told me everything I wanted to hear, but never anything that I needed to hear. It was just the right amount of affirmation I needed to lay my head upon at night. But it never stopped the dreams. Those would never go away. So, ultimately, when I woke, I was right back where I started.
I’ve tried to evict him, but I can never seem to take hold of him. Because when I finally have him within my grasp, I lose focus. I make excuses for him and I let him go.
I no longer look him in the eye. I just can’t bear it. He’s just too attached, too standoffish, too unrecognizable.
I’m afraid there’s no going back.