Eulogy
I walk hand in hand with the ghost of Regret- my only companion these days. To give up the ghost would mean total loneliness. But I’m not ready to go it alone quite yet.
So I let him take me on counterfeit dates, fancy dinners out where I glut myself on lines and lies and false sentiments. I am made to dance on eggshells and sing his praises for my supper. Half-compliments he pays me reinforce the lowly opinion I have of myself. He shows me off at huge gala balls thrown by his friend Misery. Master Regret, dressed in his finery, drags me by the hand, around and around the rooms to make formal introductions although I am but clothed in castoffs and rags. I stand back, outside even this circle of socialites, excluded from the jovial moment they share at my expense. I catch the eyes of Apathy and she but shrugs her shoulders at me. I attempt to hide behind my master when I spy Envy glaring in my direction. Noticing that I am trying to slip quietly away, he squeezes my hand, draws me in close and whispers insincere promises only to alleviate my uneasiness. I fall into his arms over and over again- only to be met with disappointment each time I discover he has once more broken my heart into still smaller shards.
We arrive home- his palace of oppression, my shelter of shame. Falling into our bed of lies, he poses a question, “Do you forgive me?” Before I can express my frustration, he interrupts, “Because I forgive you all your faults if you will still love me.” And I close my mouth, only to let the words of love resonate within my ears.
Months pass and still I cannot find my way out of this ambivalent suffering. Fancy dinners have given way to cheap take-out and comfortable confusion. Regret invites everyone over on a constant schedule, allowing me no peace. I am never alone, but always lost in my loneliness. His friends torment me for their amusement; Lust corners me in dark spaces and Scandal is forever playing pranks. The twins, Daring and Drama, cause endless messes- physically and socially- left for me to tidy up. Once, a new girl visited briefly with Cruelty. She was actually polite and friendly to me without any hidden agendas. I heard later that her name was Hope, but since then Cruelty has kept her to himself.
I have become a pauper at my new lord’s feet. I have beggared myself in the name of companionship, selling off my connections and pawning my pride. My heart has betrayed me, but my soul is no richer for the small purse of silver it clings to.
This is not death, but perhaps it will be the death of me. Am I to become a walking corpse in a vertical graveyard? Will I wander aimlessly until I chance upon a small bronze plaque, the only marker of where my dreams have been laid to rest?