It was a cold, snowy night. The snow was just beginning to dust my car and I realized just how long the winter has been. My head hadn’t been right for a couple of days and I could feel the cold ignite the ache in my bones. I missed home. I missed the life that I was supposed to have.

The house lights bounced back from the snow, and made the night seem less dark, made it seem less lonely. Even though I knew I’d be walking into an empty house. I was grateful for it. These days I have enough darkness inside of me. I suppose it makes everything else around me a little less dark anyway. And when I entered the house, I turned the lights off. If it’s dark, you can’t see that no one is there. No one is ever there.

I wanted to call. I wanted to congratulate him on his engagement. Well, in reality, I just wanted to hear the sound of his voice. The sound that began fading last year. A sound I so desperately tried to cling to.

I’m happy for him. As happy as I know how to be. Which, I guess isn’t much. He’d never believe it anyway. To him, I never knew how to be happy. We both knew I could never give him the future he wanted, anyway. I’m so attached to the idea that everyone leaves, that I in the end leave.

And if I didn’t spend the last few years forgetting there was still good left in me, I’d be somewhere completely different. Be someone completely different.

I lied down, hoping the weight in my chest would be a little less. Hoping if I closed my eyes, the chaos in my head would hinder. Slow my breathing, find order to my thoughts. It was always exhausting keeping him from running ramped through my head. The cold lived in my bones. And my bed offered no comfort.

The tasteless, familiarity of this ache ages me. I’ve found that I’m not sure of anything in my life anymore. They say that is youth. They say that is my inexperience with life. But who is to tell me that I’m not sure of my un-sureness? Somethings don’t fall together. Somethings fall apart, and stay apart. Who would have thought, the one thing I was entirely sure of, would destroy me in the end.

It’s hard to believe my heart can continue breaking before it’s even put back together. There are still things I carry with me. Things I want to tell him, words I’ve strung into necklaces, bead by tainted bead, and years I’ve waited. And all this time I thought I was coming so far, I’ve really been standing in place. It just took some news, for me to fall apart, all over again. And I am reminded, to forget him entirely.

It’s not about him being gone. It’s about us being different people, the different directions we went in, and that I still can’t find my purpose.

Ink and memories. That is what is left of me.


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