i'm not too keen on the truth these days. i'm not too keen on ruining my own fiction.
but here it is. buying a place seemed like a joy. for a year, we looked and looked, seeking perfection, finding none. we found something close and jumped at the chance. we emptied our bank accounts. it was high-stakes gambling, and it made us quite high.
since then, paperwork. complications. issues. dare i say, even some drama. over letters. over figures. over bookshelves. and i wonder, how did we get here? not we, me and b, but we, us humans? how did things get so complicated? it's a simple trade. you get money, we get your house. the bank gives you money fast, we give it back slow. where did these rituals come from? who decided this asinine, convoluted process?
"you should be a lawyer," the lawyer said, and i'd heard it before. i devoured every last clause. i asked questions he'd never been asked. "i enjoy this, discussing contracts with clients who are legally-minded. it happens so rarely."
i love the dubious things. i love seeking them out and destroying them. i love iron-clad, air-tight, open-and-shut. i am a nerd.
and now we wait. some annoying stuff happens, and we wait. more annoying, more waiting. for three months this has been happening. three months straight.
and there's the other stuff i won't speak of. the other stuff that matters most. "he's not!" i laughed, not remembering quite what you had implied. or quite what i had said.
in the end, this is how it will be, how it will count -- not the place i choose to live, but the person with whom i reside there. i hope we will be happy. i hope i will remember the reasons some day when they become aliens of my past. the future is big and wide, an autumn moon on the horizon, growing brighter and smaller as the night goes on.