Our Rug We swept our muddles under the rug and cooked dinner like nothing was amiss. We spoke of our day in minute detail but skipped the parts where we cloaked the mess, knowing vividly that we both wouldn’t be able to find solutions for its disposal. Meanwhile, we distracted ourselves with people and their ephemeral offerings. We needed distractions from the rug and the imminence of having to displace it. The inevitability of witnessing dead portions of foul-smelling mistakes and unsolved disagreements was an impending nightmare we did not want to acknowledge. But we certainly wanted to do away with all of that. In a room of dying love, the rug is still in place. It hasn’t been moved. We are still walking over it, having dinner over it and making love on it.
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