I’ve cycled through quite a few roommates.
Living with Love was okay,
but I was always sacrificing time,
neglecting my friends,
giving up this for Love,

giving up that for Love;
"You’d do it if you loved me" was her favorite quote.
I was glad when she was gone.
Sad saw her leave and moved in soon after;
I understood Sad,
why he never went far from the house,

he’s the one who introduced me to Depression.
Depression loved my place.
He’d already heard from Love that I
was looking for another roommate.
Depression’s one of those house guests who
just needed to crash for a few days,
then it turned into a few weeks, and
now his mail comes here;

he’s making no signs of leaving.
He never wants to do anything,
but his half of the rent is always on time.
Depression told me he made a new friend at work;
Suicide, said she was stopping by later,

he thought I should meet her.
He thought we’d like each other,
that we’d be good together.
We have a lot in common,
'cause we’re both looking
to get away for a while.
She showed up about three in the afternoon,
relaxed, scary relaxed: a dandelion
poised for decapitation and still soaking up the sun.

She knew Sad from a few years back;
she has known Depression for some time now.
Suicide even knew Love,
they had met, but only in passing.

Suicide slides in the door slow and sure,
arms open to me to embrace like old friends
turned new lovers.
She was so sure of everything.
I stood in the kitchen in her arms,
nervous then strangly calm.
I felt weak, like I could give up, and that was okay.
We went away for a while,
I left a note on the fridge:
"I’m not sure I’m coming back but,
anyway, it’s your turn for the dishes."

Copyright 2009 by Aaron Gay.
Used with the author's permission.