He comes every so often. The magic monster.
It's strange because even though I dread his company, I enjoy the sadness he brings.
He insists I take out all my long-lost memories. He unpacks them from his satchel. He suggests I take out all my old letters, childhood paintings and embarrassing moments. He takes great pleasure in asking disastrous 'what if' questions. He snuggles up too close for me to sleep and makes the doona lumpy. The magic monster is a guest I must welcome into my house, despite my desire never to see him again.
But the funny thing is, when the magic monster leaves and I am alone again, I miss him. I attempt to re-create his distorted beauty. It's kind of fun to wallow sometimes.
I've decided to make friends with my magic monster.
He is invited to my house anytime, as long as he brings something to eat (I'm suggesting sour straps).