Corrected ...

I could hardly get my thoughts organized before she punctuated her question with her own answer: "none."

And she was right.

I had no right to be there; no right to occupy her vision or share in her rarified air. It was left for me to cross the boulevard of broken dreams that lay before me, gathering the bits and pieces of face, faith, and fate strewn along the way. So for hours that day, I was discussed and she was disgusted.

All I wanted was to disappear.

The feeling of disassociation isn't new to me. More than once in my life I've wanted to disintegrate and blow away like dust in the wind; to sink into a crack in the sidewalk or a wrinkle in time and not exist. Be gone, be nothing. Not some existentialist's wet dream where I simply remove consciousness from body and watch my life like some bad B-movie. I mean literal nonexistence. Cessation. The act of being discontinued.

And now she makes me want to feel this way again.

Her words become a blur, masked by tears and augmented with choice thoughts unfit for public consumption. I'm numb to her attempts. Mind constantly racing - a byproduct of mechanically trying to stay one lie ahead of what lies ahead. Soon I will see there is nothing to race against; no race to be won. That what prize their may have been is not worth the price paid to achieve it. That she was right; and here I stand corrected.

I will see all of that as soon as she stops fucking crying. Damn.