Feeling Strange

 

 

                Blue dishes, blue shower curtain, blue paint covered walls; all of the memories and all of the pictures. He was thinking about these things. Doyle held the guitar for a moment longer and then placed it on the floor like a sleeping child; delicate and loving-like.

                “There must be changes,” Doyle said, “For this marriage to work.” Everything, from their names to their sexual patterns, to the god damn dishes and walls must change. They used to be like wild rabbits. He scratched his mosquito bite. There must be changes. From the food in the refrigerator to the music he plays on his guitar, the course he drives from work to home and the way she brushes her hair. Doyle went on just thinking of the infinite little movements and details that composed the Simon’s lives and how they could be different and better. If only Winona knew this.

                He hovered over the small pad of paper from the Golden Chip Casino. Doyle grabbed the pen and held it shaking there. Writing was never that great for him. He began by telling Winona that she is the woman of his dreams. And then he stopped because he realized how true it really was.