Коллекционер

           Hedidalltheusualmorningroutineinsilence.Onceherubbedhisshoulderinratheranobviousway.Andthatwasthat.

           NowI’mgoingtolookproperlyforloosestones.Thetunnelidea.OfcourseI’velookedbefore,butnotreallyclosely,literallystonebystone,fromtoptobottomofeachwall.

           It’sevening.He’sjustgoneaway.Hebroughtmemyfood.Buthe’sbeenverysilent.Disapproving.Ilaughedoutloudwhenhewentawaywiththesupper-things.HebehavesexactlyasifIoughttobeashamed.

           Hewon’tbecaughtbythedoortrickagain.Therearen’tanyloosestones.Allsolidlyconcretedin.Isupposehethoughtofthataswellasofeverythingelse.

           I’vespentmostoftodaythinking.Aboutme.Whatwillhappentome?I’veneverfeltthemysteryofthefuturesomuchashere.Whatwillhappen?Whatwillhappen?

           It’snotonlynow,inthissituation.WhenIgetaway.WhatshallIdo?Iwanttomarry,Iwanttohavechildren,Iwanttoprovetomyselfthatallmarriagesneedn’tbelikeDandM’s.IknowexactlythesortofpersonIwanttomarry,someonewithamindlikeG.P.’s,onlymuchnearermyownage,andwiththelooksIlike.Andwithouthisonehorridweakness.ButthenIwanttousemyfeelingsaboutlife.Idon’twanttousemyskillvainly,foritsownsake.ButIwanttomakebeauty.Andmarriageandbeingamotherterrifiesmeforthatreason.