The Death of Novelty

I said to him, “You no longer read my blog.”
He said, “I do!”
I said, “You used to read it everyday-”
“-More than once everyday-”
“And now you only read it once a week.”
And guess what he has the cheek to tell me?
“The fire has died what.” lol
“I’m going to start posting your deepest darkest secrets on my blog and see how long it takes for you to cotton on.”

***

He said to I, “You’ve started doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“You stop sharing the ice cream with me once it reaches a flavour you like.”

***

We’ve started behaving badly. Behaving like ourselves. Not just like ourselves. It is a self that nobody else sees, or would expect of us. It is ourselves perhaps a good ten years ago. Selfish, egocentric, easily bored, childish, squabbly, whiny, equally easily amused. It is lovely to be completely juvenile, to lounge about in bed, to squabble over who should get up first and who has to fetch the next round of drinks, to make faces and to imitate. To not share our toys (i.e. the tablet), or our my ice cream.

Sometimes I hug him so tight it hurts;
he doesn’t know I am scared of him dying.

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