Puppet Love

Ummm… three weeks. Yeah, three weeks since he quit giving up. It’s- He’s been much better, patient, kinder… just easier to live with- he snaps less. It’s been good for him, and… us. You know, I like him again, which sounds funny, but I do, I can bear to be in the room with him for more than ten minutes, and that’s- well- it’s good. He likes himself again, which is a relief, I guess sometimes you lose that, sometimes you- well, we all lose that sometimes. There are bad days. Still a few bad days. Sometimes I catch him, feeding his guilt in the corner, feeling sorry for himself, feeling- I don’t know, lost? Just for a moment he looks small… and lost. Maybe it’s not the best, maybe none of this is, but then, who wants to be alone? When you really come down to it, who wants to be alone? I’m not sorry for needing it, for being selfish, for being- you know, for being! Life is all about the guilty pleasures. What’s the problem in admitting it? Everyone needs a vice in the city, and I don’t want to let go of that. I don’t want to be the stoic, to deny my cake. I choose not to eat? Why would I do that? Others will still go hungry. I need this. I need him. I need.