The scene from a movie. The couple fights. After dancing around each other they’re finally honest, uninhibited. The words a kind of violence, honest but bloody. He leaves, slams the door.
I’m proud of him, because he thinks he’s in love with her, because he doesn’t know what he’d do without her, because losing her would wreck him, but he leaves anyway.
She comes back. They embrace, not smiling, not happy, and it’s that feeling that I crave. It’s painful but’s it’s right. It’s real, and the real thing hurts.
…
I remember walking across campus in the rain. Aimless, hopeless, lost. Idly wondering what was going to happen next, if this was the way it ends, what I was going to do if it did. I’d never love again, I’d hollow out the empty spaces in my life and fill them with busy work, I’d chase the easiest distraction until I was all burned up and nothing was left.
She called me back. She still wanted to be my girlfriend. That time.
…
I don’t trust people. I didn’t trust her. But I had to, so I did.
Because it was my only chance, because we were in looove, because if it was ever going to work it should work with her.
Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
So who does that make me now?
…
She calls. He doesn’t know where she’s been, he’s been up all night imagining every worst scenario. Her voice is cheerful, light. I miss you, how was your night, what’re you doing? He tries to ask her what happened, but nothing happened, why are you acting so weird? His heart is a pound of raw ground meat, but he forces himself to smile like it’s still pumping blood, because it doesn’t matter anymore.
She’s already gone, she’s not coming back, but the longer you delay there’s a chance she might change her mind, she might find what’s missing, she might surprise you and you’ll wake up, you head in her hands, with her telling you it was all a bad dream.
It’s over anyway, so why not pretend just a little longer? It’s cold and dark outside, so why not keep warm just a moment longer?
But she’s not coming back, so it doesn’t matter anyway.
There’s no reason to see her again, because she’s not coming back.
A sea of faces, a million stories with one ending.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
…
I chose this, I know. I’m not sorry.
It’s not that I’m a coward, it’s not that I’m afraid.
The moments we could have, before it happens and she doesn’t come back, might be sweet, but not sweet enough. Sweet enough if you could have them forever, the lie that I can no longer convince myself to believe.
Sweetness fades, it’s not to my taste.
I’m waiting for iron and ozone, for sharp teeth and lightning. For a love that would leave a scar worth keeping.
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