Note 8: Emails to Myself

With your big lips and your questions about everything I knew from the moment you came in. I knew you had come for my husband. For him. For the one you knew on facebook. For this doctor. This asshole translator. I've seen him working on Derrida. Like working on my face, my nose. You've come for him and now you're taking a photo with me and our son.Your next move is to put it on facebook. He says beauty is to be praised no matter who or what it is. You call him brother. But we all know. This moment you put it on facebook and from my look and your grin they'll know it. I'll make him lose me. I'm just waiting for my son to grow up. Two more years. He shouldn't know it. Now you start complimenting my gorgeous eyes but I see it on your lips, I see it in your trembling hands when you're taking the book out, signing it and giving it to me instead of him. I see it in your eyes when you know I'll make him feel he can't satisfy me anymore. When I tell him I'd been pretending all these years. When he gets up and goes to the living room and think of tomorrows and games he'd love to play on facebook. I see it in my voice when I say no I will no.