Confectionary Confinement

If she was sitting in the kitchen in the blue dress and he was making spaghetti, then he was wearing an apron and she was barefoot. This means that she was writing on the walls with permanent marker that smelled stronger than the boiling water. This means that she was writing down all of the abstractions she felt were there, and all of the adventures she would not have. If she was sitting in that kitchen in the blue dress and he was making spaghetti, then she had made a decision ten months ago, ten years ago, ten months in the future, she was making the decision right now. As he was making the spaghetti she was making her decision, would be making her decisions, always. The blue flowers on the wallpaper did not exist in the world outside. They only existed in the kitchen, on the wall paper. This is the decision she had made, for blue flowers to exist only in that kitchen, only in his hair, only on paper and never in the air. If he shaved his head, if the wall paper was torn off the walls, the blue flowers would no longer exist. This was the decision she had been making, she had made, she would make in the future. She chose for the sticky blue flowers to stay on the wall, underneath her permanent-marker scribbling. She wrote of the flowers outside, of the adventures she chose to chain to the walls of the kitchen instead of deciding to see if they were real. The boy making the spaghetti would not read her adventures, of how neither she nor the flowers would ever have them. He would not read them even when she asked, and when she didn’t ask he wouldn’t even see them. She saw everything though. She saw the blue flowers in his hair and wondered if she changed her mind, if they would jump free and their adventures would be as she had written them on the walls. Every moment she wrote on the walls of the kitchen, stood barefoot on the tile floor in the blue dress, smelled the pasta cooking, smiling that smile, was a decision. It was the decision she had made ten months ago, and would always be making until she changed her mind and freed her adventures from the walls, the flowers from his hair.