less than zero

The only thing that you cannot affect is eventuality. She whispers that without looking at me, instead she stares ahead at a mirage that begins to form in the middle of desert. She's lying back on one of those long deck chairs, sipping away at her drink. There is no one else on the balcony and the sun is beginning to set. This is what we do to ourselves, we scrutinize the past details of our lives in order to obtain a sense of clairvoyance about the future. We are all unreliable journalists, our columns contain no traces of truth which our readers can discern. I turn to look at her but her eyes offer nothing. They are vapid and washed over with an expression that has advanced sadness. A nonchalance that has been my doing. I make my way down to her neck, my eyes following her till the curve of her shoulders. In the middle of her solar plexus just below her breasts something begins to form. A black hole which is widening before my eyes. I have helped it grow larger and larger with every word and half formed gesture. Soon there is nothing left of her except this void which I have filled with objects impure and hidden. I am in love with my kidnapper but my Stockholm syndrome is wearing off. I stare ahead as the mirage becomes more and more vivid. In the middle of the sky two words form within a bracket. (disappear here) / There is nothing I can do but oblige. Every cell in my body dissipates into the desert air. I am all too familiar with this disappearing act and the parentheses closes removing me with it.