Playing with Matches

No, never. I love the absurdity and nonsense. I think of it as a pleasant escape from the dreary headlines in the morning papers.

My fingers are struggling to keep pushing this tired pencil.

The last letter I will ever write.

Thankfully, the time has come for me to escape this overwhelm-ing pain. The tragedy of love and unfathomable loss.

But not before I take one final glimpse of late afternoon beauty.

A golden glow of orange streaming through the lounge-room window. Framing your sleeping body stretched out on the sofa. One arm hanging over the edge—fingers resting on the carpet. Sparkles of light, like tiny diamonds, dancing on a dropped whiskey glass. Sleeping pills spilt and scattered.

The wonderful serenity of a silent heart magnified in my teardrop.

Sunsets never lie.

Straitlaced and judgmental. Boring adults who bite their lips before speaking. Too afraid to say what we really think and feel. Tiptoeing our way through inane dinner conversations. Playing a brand-new game. Where telling the truth has become the ultimate dare.