Watching the grass grow

I was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for two, when I realized he was already gone.

He left no notes, no clothes, no money. If it weren’t for the holes in the couch, I would have declared myself loony. Those were all the signs that made me still believe he had existed at some point.

I went back to bed, took what it was left of my sleeping pills.

I dreamed like I’ve never dreamed before. I’ve been trying to wake up since then, but I simply can’t. I suppose death is not such a relieve. I wanted to sleep forever, not to dream forever! Maybe I was selfish. Maybe it wouldn’t have been such a bore if I had trained my imagination.

My dead biological clock tells me it’s been a week. My dead senses confirm that: when I arrived here, those plants you see over there were a bit dried. Then it rained, it rained for hours and hours. For me it was OK, I hadn’t taken a shower in a while. Then some little buds showed up. That’s when I started to pay full attention to them. As you can see now, the plants turned to be violet lupines. Violet flowers everywhere. I love it, violet has always been my favorite color.

Does anybody cut the grass here? It’s getting itchy, and it’s a shame: such a beautiful garden!

I wish I had changed my clothes that morning, then I wouldn’t be in these silly pyjamas now. For the rest I can’t complain. You may say it’s a bore, you may say it’s the most ridiculous way to spend eternity: but isn’t it passionate to watch the grass grow?