The Hypothesis

By Sherrie Gonzales-Kolb

I wake up, warm, cozy –

Curled up next to no one.

I built this temple of

Solitude –

Brick by strategic brick.

Others bring chaos

To a perfect

Order

Made possible only by aloneness.

I remain aloof – untouchable exuding a

“don’t fuck-with-me-ness”.

I mean it though.

Except sometimes when the days seem too long the same.

The nights endless…and I tease myself with the messiness of

An other infiltrating my smooth sailing –

Rocking my boat –

Rocking my world…zero visibility into my own separateness.

An Us instead of an I.

Too much to comprehend…projection and transference but no understanding.

Tolerance and resignation – and acceptance?

A hypothetical You for Me? Me for You?

“Yield to oncoming traffic.”

Always a potential accident waiting to happen –

Merging two lives into One.

The idea of such a “no-guarantee” risk makes me shiver –

Clutching my pillow tightly….inanimate, making no demands, no expectations.

And as darkness morphs into light, I begin my self-engineered trek – Me, Myself,

an I --

but no You.