I imagine you staring out of the window. Just sitting there, thinking about all the things you have done and all the things you have said and I imagine you in some kind of fog. You move to stroke your chin and the dark black stubble makes a scratching sound and you close your eyes in the hope that this chaos will just simply fade away; maybe nobody noticed, maybe everybody has forgotten, maybe nobody knows about all this anyway?

I imagine you watching drops of water running downwards on the window pane and as you watch them you have an idea, which you then immediately loose and there’s a knock at the door. I’m at the door, and I imagine you contemplating not letting me in, but I’ve come in anyway because there are things that need to be said and I have come to say them.

I imagine you sat opposite me and I’m talking to you. I am not shouting. And I imagine you not taking any of this in; your mind has wondered and you’re gazing at the window pane, watching the drops of water. You haven’t even notice that I’ve left.

I imagine a stream of people knocking at your door. They’ve formed an orderly queue that runs down the hallway, the stairs and out into the street. One by one they knock at the door and enter to say the things that need to be said, only to be ignored by the figure gazing out of the window. And when the last one has left the room, I imagine darkness falling. I imagine you in a room that darkens and fades to black and I imagine you fading with it.

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