I am spinning

literally, going nowhere on a bicycle

in a hot and dark room

that is nevertheless fully temperature controlled

filled with people I do not want to know

I don’t even necessarily enjoy the music

and I think: I am suited to this existence

the charade of self awareness cloaked in hard work and sweat

the facade of movement without any discernible progress

ensconced in a space shut off from the real world

left to chant catchy, empty mantras and nothing more

paying to be part of something for which I harbor a certain disdain

I pretend at reformation, registering calories burned

while the world burns too and

everything else stays exactly the same.


It was almost too sad, the whole thing.

She walked around the house, opening all the doors and cabinets and drawers. She studied the bedside photos of the man with this woman. The woman could have been her – maybe. But it was not.

She inspected the artwork, the decor and anything else she could see without touching. Anything that did not make sense to her – she knew these pieces belonged to the woman she was not and not to the man she knew. She made mental notes of what she saw.

She paused to wonder if he could see her. Something she knew was not possible but a thought that came into her head all the same.

She shifted her mind away from the idea and felt some small pleasure in the joy she gleaned from his belongings, his frozen smile in the pictures, his grasp on this other woman. Who he was – finally revealed in everything around her.

And this is what she focused on, and not the strange old sadness that filled some part of her.