never over

You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
The day you loved me is the day my heart started beating.
If you leave, you’ll take my heartbeat with you.

And I fully meant to say these things to him when he called and said he’d come over. I knew he came back to her. I knew he was gonna say goodbye and so I braced myself. Thing is, when he arrived, the words got caught in my throat. Instead, I listened to him speak about us, about her, about how he never knew he loved her still. In my silence, I thought about how words mean different things when you say them differently. Say my little speech slowly with a half-smile and some tears in your eyes and it’s a proclamation of love. Say it softly, say it in a hushed voice, make the consonants extra crunchy and it becomes a threat. You’ll take my heartbeat with you. I will die when you go.

He says he could see me in his mind’s eye when I am older. He says I will survive losing him. Why don’t I believe?

I tried everything. I was Kübler-Ross in hyper mode. Denial: This isn’t happening. Anger: You said you loved me! Bargaining: I’ll change. I swear I will. Depression: Just please… (interrupted) I will die when you go. Then back to Anger.

You hear that? I yelled. I will die when you go! I grabbed the kitchen knife and held it against my pulse.

Don’t be stupid, he said, chasing me through the kitchen. You’re better than that. I threw vases and bottles at him to slow him down. The sound of glass breaking stabbed through the February nighttime. When I became tired, I sat crumpled in a corner. He almost walked towards me, stopping only when he saw the sea of broken glass that surrounded me. I imagined his bare feet stepping on the colorful pieces. I wanted his blood on my floor. I wanted the warm, red liquid to seep through the wood. He put on his boots and walked over the broken bottles. He pried the knife from my weakened hand and sat down beside me. And then without warning, the arrival of the last stage.

Acceptance: I lay my head on his lap, the way I used to on long cab rides home. He messed up my hair, running his hands in different directions like a message lost in time.

Why do you still want me? he asked. I’ve done nothing but hurt you. Why do you want me to stay?

I looked him in the eye. I wanted to see his face when I tell him that our happiness, though a ghost, still warms my bed at night.

---

Tell me our story, I said through silent tears. The sun was beginning to rise. I want to hear how you remember it.

What would that solve?

Nothing. Everything. I want to know what it was like for you to love me. Tell me like I wasn’t there. A salty tear dropped from my cheek to his leg. He stopped playing with my hair and lit a cigarette. I could hear his labored breathing from my spot on his lap. His belly pushed my head a little whenever he inhaled.

When I was 31, I fell in love with a boy, he began. I closed my eyes and pictured the words in my mind. He had dark, messy hair, a good heart and a tight ass. He was beautiful and for the better part of that summer, he was mine.

♫: Foo Fighters | Walking After You (1998)
Photo: broken
Post: Mississippi (first draft, unpublished)

---

The Emo Blogger's Happy Blogging Challenge: The Ghost of Happiness

• ןıuǝ oɟ ɟןıƃɥʇ: The Ghost of Happiness, A Series
• citybuoy: never over