Walk out the door, I told you and between your screams of protest I grabbed you by the collar and threw you out. Away from my life, my home, my little bubble of happiness I created all by myself when you left me in the middle of everything. You’re making it break, I told you, as I hauled you on to my porch, you’re ruining everything, you always do, you’re the proverbial stupid spanner in my life of tiny, relentless works.
Tiny is a horrible word, especially when you use it excessively in your head to describe your own value, and worse when someone else put the word in your head. It’s not a welcome addition to my mental self-esteem dictionary, and I have solely you to thank for it. You’re a frequent contributor, actually. You must find that amazing, knowing that so long after your physical absence in my general scheme of things, you still hold the irritating place in my head- the voice at the back of it.
Detachment is a word that sounds bereft to begin with, used in a sentence generates a feeling of pity. Aw, you poor thing, having to slowly hammer away at that shrine in your heart you built for something. You poor, poor thing. I wish I could help, but I’m afraid I have no intention to.
I wish that dashed line would erase itself in a fireball of sentimentality. You wish I lost my way with words so that I no longer had the ability to make you insanely guilty and highly relieved at the same, exact time. Guilty because you thought you turned me into this subtly crazy version of myself, and relieved because you left before the worst of me came along. We wish there was an easier way to conduct ourselves at these uncommon bonding sessions – a way to get much farther away than ever considered possible, and right now we don’t know what way we’re going.
The function of love no longer an easy prescription, you kissed my cheek and left me standing there, the back of your head bobbing away in a painfully familiar rhythm. See you soon, I couldn’t help but whisper.
See you soon.