Hemry's Arcanums

Whenever I thought about what we would say when we grew up, he would scrunch his stupid face and look at me like I was squeezing bubble wrap in my mouth.

He never thought it was so interesting to think about the future. At least, not in the way I thought he thought. Not in the way he pretended that he thought, mostly when he was drunk.

Hugs never meant anything to him.

Me? I never really liked him. I just clung to him because he made me feel like I had to work, put in the effort, do something, anything, to be better than the person he was so sure I was going to become.

I think sometimes I loved him, but I never liked him.

Think about it. Every day you are going to wake up and just hope that you have fallen in love. Most people spend their time wishing someone else could love them, or that they could fall out of love with someone. Not Hemry.

I remember a time when he told me the story of his name. His father wanted to call him Hemmingway, but his mother wanted to call him Henry, so, on the day of his birth, when she was too tired to notice, he signed the name Hemry on the birth certificate, took all her money and fucked off. He didn’t come back. Nice guy.

Love is something Hemry said was for domestic animals. They had to pretend they loved you, so you would feed them. He said that people were just stupid pets, bred to love so they would eventually have a house and food. He said this wasn’t why people actually existed.

Somebody told me once that I should find somebody else. Somebody that wasn’t so obnoxiously stupid. Occasionally though, after he would say something terrible to me, something bone crushingly pathetic, he would smile. I thought maybe he found it funny, the way he treated us, and that, he just didn’t know. And I was too tired. To find somebody, anybody;

Else.