Some part of me sits on the other side of the bed, looking at me with mischievous eyes. She says, with a smile, “When did you become so cynical?”
I don’t have an answer for her. I stare out the window, lost in thought. I want to think about the things that matter, but the thoughts go nowhere. I don’t even remember them when they’re gone. I can feel her smile fade, and she sighs.
“You’re just doing it to yourself, you know.”
“I know.” I say. Do I know it? I must, if she does. She thinks me foolish.
“You’ll wake up one day.” So much faith in me. What does she know, this piece of my mind? What could she know?
I say nothing. I choose to hear nothing. The quiet is abhorrent and I miss her. “I’m still here. I always will be.”
Do you really think we can change the world?