Vague Thoughts With Anu

I Talk To Myself When You’re Not Here

I talk to myself when you’re not here. I say things I would tell you. Sometimes I tell you secrets I don’t want you to know. 

I imagine what you’d say if you were here. But you are not, and I don’t really want you to hear. 

So I tell myself.

And then all of a sudden, I’m in a room with a hundred myselfs, and we are having a wonderful conversation. We laugh and laugh and no one argues. Sometimes one of us will get sad, but I am always there to cheer myself up. The hundreds of us, we tell stories, we share fears, we sing songs to each other—I tell myself how beautiful my voice is. 

When we get tired of talking, we go upstairs to the roof and look at the stars. And when I’m staring at a particularly bright star that now I’m sure is an airplane that is headed straight for me, I start to wish one of the many me’s up on this roof were you. And if you were here, all the hundreds of me’s would disappear. Because when I am talking to you, I don’t need to be with me. 

When I’m talking to you, it’s like I’m talking to me.