Dear Diary, i’m afraid
i’m gravely ill.
It is perhaps time
like these that one reflects on things past.
An article of clothing
from when i was young.
A green jacket.
A walk with my father.
A game we once played.
Pretend we’re fairies.
I’m a girl fairy, and
my name is La-ru-lee.
And you’re a boy fairy,
and your name is Teet-ree.
Pretend when we’re
fairies, we fight each other.
And
i say, “stop hitting me again or i’ll die.”
And you hit me again,
and i say,
“Now i have to die.”
And you say, “but i’ll miss you.”
And i say, “but i have to.”
And you’ll have to
wait a million years to see me again.
And i’ll be put in a
box, and all i need is a tiny glass of water and lots tiny piece of pizza, and
the box will have wings like an airplane.
And you ask, “where will it take
you?”
“Home,” i say.
*Dikutip dari narasi/monolog/meta-dialog Synecdoche, New York karya Charlie
Kaufman.
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