Strangers. Lovers. Enemies. Friends. Liars.

Because we weren’t official, does that mean I can’t mourn the loss of you?

Because you aren’t mine, does that mean I can’t seethe seeing you live, just fine, without me?

Because so much time has existed before me and will go on, without interruption, upon my unexpected exile, does that mean I am alone in feeling like our time together was significant?

Can I have, and lose, something that I never had permission to call mine?

I want my life story to be more than the bars I solicited, conversations tainted with alcohol and too hazy to recall, men that have entered and exited my life.

I can’t stand the sound of your voice, and it’s the only comfort I’ll take. Like cream in my coffee… you’re familiar, you’re an addiction, I hate you, you’re killing me, and I need you… and all you give me in return are momentary thrills, as I work to fight off the side effects as soon as you’ve left me. I’m thirsty.

I can’t believe I won’t even be a footnote in the book of your life…. You were so important to me. Mountainous change. Profound experiences and lessons. Loving and fighting and laughing and living passionately.

But there aren’t even pictures. There isn’t even proof of the scars you’ve left behind. This mess I’ve had to clean on my own. There is no evidence that I was ever a name on your breath, a waist in your arms, a taste on your tongue, an image in those goddamn brown eyes.


It’s not fair how quickly I disappeared from you. How deeply you cut into me.


I start keeping time with you.

850 days since our first kiss.

139 days later, I left you for the first time.

Nearly a year since I saw you last.

 

You became my compass.

He is 400 miles North.

He is 13,000 miles East.

I left my heart 700 miles South West of here.

My memories are a 15 hour drive away.

My identity is a 3 hour plane ride.

… my life is far gone…


I’ve learned to live without you, but you’re always just a breath away… a lonely night. An extra shot of whiskey. A New York skyline, a zydeco band, a salty Bahama ocean breeze. A whisper of your name, a familiar tune on the radio, a memory as I walk the streets of Manhattan.


A Facebook notification flashes the news:

EXTRA! EXTRA!

HE’S FINE. HE’S LIVING WITHOUT YOU, HAPPILY, NOT THINKING ABOUT YOU.YOU’RE NOT IMPORTANT. YOU HAVE NOTHING TO SHARE.  YOU’VE GAINED WEIGHT. YOU’RE NOT DOING MUCH IN YOUR LIFE RIGHT NOW. SHE’S PRETTIER THAN YOU. SHE’S FITTER THAN YOU. THEY ALL ARE. YOU’RE BORING. NOTHING YOU HAVE TO SAY IS NEW. YOUR WRITING IS DULL AND UNINVENTIVE. YOU’RE ALMOST 25 AND UNEXCITING.  YOU HAVE NOTHING TO OFFER. TO THE INTERNET. TO HIM. TO YOURSELF. TO THE WORLD. NO ONE NOTICED THAT YOU’RE NOT EVEN THERE. YOU WEAR YOUR HEART ON YOUR SLEEVE. YOU ARE ALONE IN YOUR AFFECTION AND THE ONLY FEELINGS YOU CAN EVOKE IN OTHERS ARE PHYSICAL. YOU’VE SERVED YOUR PURPOSE AND NOW HE’S GONE. IT’S A REPETITIVE PROCESS AND IT NEVER ENDS… YOU’RE STUCK IN A CYCLE OF FEELING AND EMOTING AND RELEASING AND BECOMING VULNERABLE… AND IT CRASHES AND BURNS AGAIN. IT CAN’T BE GENUINE IF IT HAPPENS EVERY TIME.

…DID I MENTION YOU’RE FAT NOW? THAT HIGH CAMERA ANGLE ISN’T HIDING YOUR DOUBLE CHIN AND LOVE HANDLES. NICE TRY. FILTERS AREN’T MAGIC.

Reality, Future, Loneliness and 236 others like this.


 

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