Repeating

I tried to follow Alice into Wonderland. Before I knew she was Alice. Before I knew what Wonderland was. Instead, she blocked the rabbit hole and refused to let me in. She’d let me follow her up until that point. Maybe it’s because, the first time she went down the hole, I wasn’t there. I don’t remember if I couldn’t find her, or if I was just too busy to try and find her. The point is I wasn’t there.

The next time I saw her, she came back with someone else to keep her company. And I sat there and burned with all seven sins, cursing and wishing ill on Alice’s new companion.

I tried to win back her favor. Not that it worked. She was too far down. She had already jumped, while I waited at the edge of the hole, waiting for her. When I wanted to go down with her, she had blocked the rabbit hole and told me in subtle silence that I was not allowed. The rabbit hole was special and hers. I was neither. And what’s more, she was not mine.

And now she’s gone down the rabbit hole, with a pocket watch and an expression that I can’t read. And I’m waiting for her, peering down and trying to find something in that darkness. Alice has a very loud absence.

I should leave. I screamed and screamed down the hole, but she never heard me. Or maybe she did and decided not to reply. I should go home. But I’m still sitting here past sunset and past sunrise after sunrise.

I miss you, Alice. And I hate you. Because you don’t love me back.

I love you.