Dear Dr. Malbec, It's been a while. You said writing things down might help. So... Here I am. I kept the little notebook You told me I should buy The one for all the thoughts I wasn't supposed to hide I've filled up every margin Even wrote behind the lines You'd be proud of my commitment I've been making up for time I sleep a little better I hardly shake at all And I finally took your picture From the nail beside the wall Don't worry, I didn't burn it I just moved it down the hall You always said perspective Changes everything we see I've been thinking about that, Doctor And what you saw in me Dear Dr. Malbec Which one of us was sick? You kept changing all the questions Till the answers seemed to fit Dear Dr. Malbec I remember what you said Funny how your voice gets clearer When I'm lying here in bed You wanted me to know myself I think I'm getting close I walked past your office Tuesday They've repainted all the doors There's another name beneath yours I don't recognize, of course I didn't go inside I know what boundaries mean You spent enough of our appointments Teaching that one thing to me But I saw you through the window You were laughing with someone new Did you tell him he's improving? You used to tell me that one too Does he sit where I was sitting? Does he watch your fountain pen? Do you wait until he's comfortable Before you start again? Dear Dr. Malbec Which one of us was sick? You could turn a man's confession Into something clinical Dear Dr. Malbec You said memory likes to bend So I've written down each version And they all have different ends You wanted me to know myself Now which one did you mean? I found something strange. Page forty-seven. My handwriting changes. I don't remember writing it. But... I remember you reading it. There are names between the sentences Dates beneath the ink Little notes about your habits Things I don't remember thinking What you drink When you leave Which nights you stay too late Which window keeps its curtains open Which entrance locks at eight That isn't me, Doctor At least... Not the me you knew But whoever filled those pages Seems to know an awful lot about you You told me there were pieces That my mind refused to hold You told me not to chase them You told me— You told me— You told me— Maybe you should've let them go HOW MANY FACES DID YOU NEED? HOW MANY VERSIONS DID YOU FEED? WHICH ONE CRIED? WHICH ONE LIED? WHICH ONE DID YOU KEEP INSIDE? YOU WROTE THE NAMES I WORE THE SKIN NOW TELL ME, DOCTOR WHO LET WHO IN? He helped you. No. He listened. No. He knows you. Shut up. He made you better. SHUT UP. He made us. I'm sorry about the handwriting It gets worse when we're upset There are things about our sessions We're beginning to collect I thought I came for answers Now I understand the trick You never cured the patient You just learned which face would speak So don't worry about tomorrow Don't reschedule Don't explain I don't need another hour And I don't need another name You wanted me to know myself Doctor... We finally met. I'll bring the notebook. There are a few pages I think you'll want to see. Until then, Your patient.
