or rather strange lot, we have become.
if there are a thousand ways to skin a cat i'm sure there must be more than one way to peel an orange. but then you see these oranges are not like those, the ones mom used to peel off and delicately place in the middle of the coffee table on the blue tray with yellow sunflowers. they don't fill the air with citrus odor, they don't ooze out their fresh juice all over you, they're tamed, calmed down, mild and mellow. they're just soft, smooth and gentle, just like fat free pasteurized milk. i made a circle on top and then scarred the sides.
i was staring at the woman on the sofa as i peeled them off. peaceful she glowed with her eyes closed, safe she felt under the comforter. her blond hair spread all over the cushions, innocent she looked in my shameless eyes. why is she here, i shall ask myself. a rush of vanity, deconstructing doubts.
she cooks chicken soup. she laughs at my jokes. she believes in family, in home and in vitamins. she doesn't enjoy sarcasm, at least not as much as i do. she acupunctures. she taught me sudoku. she dislikes horror movies. she likes puzzles, dido and deal or no deal. but more than anything, she cares genuinely, with all of her being. i reached for a kleenex to wipe the pulp off my hands, as she turned around and i faced her bare back.
there's an eminent disconnect between me and her. i shall revise that: it's people, not her. there's a wide open gap, as deep as the skies in a starless night. i'm not a believer and i have no faith, but somehow i believe in solitude, that people are lonely, me and you and her. they never connect. i never connect. i picked up another orange, i didn't feel like it, but i peeled it off, and the next one too, this time with my nails.
