There was one time and not so long ago, that you seemed so fascinated by me and my little world. I still don't know why. You would lean close with your face, nearly pressing against the glass and I would glare back at you, staring unblinkingly at your expressive brown eyes. To search for meaning. To attempt to understand what you must be thinking at that moment. So yes, I admit it, I loved you.
The music you played, the rhythm of your footsteps, the snow storm of food you gave, all these became my experiences. You were my life and the only world I have ever known. And I gratefully accepted the life we shared. After all what else did I have beyond you?
I want to say I knew you well but I cannot. For hours I would watch you and try to understand. Try to become more of a part of your world. But subtract all the things I thought I saw and thought I understood about you subtract these from the rest of the world I could never make much sense of and only emptiness remains.
But last night, I called out your name into the blackness. But there was no answer.
So, tell me have you stopped loving me? A simple question to ask, I know. Did you forget my name or am I even real to you at all? Have I become only an ornament in a bubbling piece of furniture? Another thing in your life requiring regular maintenance.
And when I am gone and you are holding my gold satin corpse in the palm of your hand, will it matter much to you? Will my replacement come so easily to you?
Because last night, I looked out to the limits of my myopic view and called your name. I called your name- it is the only word I know- and I sang the song of love for you and I waited. But there was no answer.