A Dramatic Monologue Addressed To No-one On The Topic Of Self-Deception

by Ayesha Chatterjee

Did you really think this was about you?
This clouded passion, slow burning,
Mind-chilling,
It's better than a roller-coaster, cheaper too.

So what if I see flakes of you everywhere;
In the sudden summer rain that
Blinded the highway
The other day
And tamed my car into a shuddering tin can,
My knuckles white behind the wheel
Nearly forgotten in the deluged air.

Tantalising scraps of you
In the unsuspecting tilt of a stranger's head across a room,
A picture flickering on a TV screen,
An echo of a word, spoken just so, just then,
A squiggle on a keyboard, a flourish of a
Pen. Your voice is murky though;
I was so busy being casual that I let it slip.
Pity that.

Do you know what I do
With these images of you?

I gather them gently together and scrape
Them off the edge of the table,
One by one, carefully,
Onto a clean white sheet of memory
Which I roll as tightly as I'm able,
Tighter,
So you cannot escape.

And then I breathe you deeply in
Till my throat is clogged and my vision blurred;
My heart straining against my ribs
I let you course through my veins
In a firework of colours, brilliant, pulsating,
Through and through me
Fuelled by the pure blue flame of futility.

So you see
You'll do.
You'll do for now.