Stream of Consciousness: These Are the Things I’ll Never Say
This is an exercise in stream of consciousness writing. I have been using it a lot for the book I’m working on right now and this is one I wrote to get the creative juices flowing.
And there’s a storm that’s been brewing in my chest since I told you to go and I’m so close to just letting it win. I thought I was stubborn, everyone always said so. Everyone except you. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I have no idea what I am, what I’m doing. Maybe I’m not stubborn at all. And there are times when I wonder, if I hadn’t said what I said, would you still be gone? The answer is, obviously, undoubtedly, no, no, no. And I mostly just miss you, really. That’s all that can be said for that. But I read the script over and over and wonder how the lines could have been rewritten, I watch the movie and wonder how the acting could have been better. Would he have seen her face (or was it my face?) and known without a doubt, just like last time, that she was lying? Or is it a possibility, however remote, that she could have
stepped up her game and lied through her teeth and made sure no one ever knew, no one except her and the universe and her own goddamn guilt. I told you I was trouble. Maybe you believe me, now. Maybe that’s why I saw you go up in a puff of smoke the other day after we made eye contact on the street, after I saw you with your arm around the ideal me, the one you dreamed up to take my place. I’ll try, I’m trying so hard not to be jealous, not to be that girl, because I’ve been there done that and it left an empty, cobwebbed room in my heart. I never deserved you, anyway. I mostly just want to know how you are, these days. What you are up to. How you’ve fared. Is there any way that you could come over? Let’s just drive, the way we used to, and I’ll just wrap a blanket around myself in the passenger seat and leave the window open and let the freezing summer air wrap its arms around us. And it doesn’t matter how far we go, or if the mountain road is too narrow to come back down, or if we even come back at all. And I mostly just miss you, really. But you haven’t spoken to me in days, months, years. I don’t know if you remember my name, or my face, or my heart. And these, these are the things I’ll never say. These are the things I’ll never say.