Friday, October 9, 2015

on how I write you



The words come as it happens. There’s an absence in his eyes, a shiver in his voice that tells me he’s stopped loving me. “Where are you going?” he asks, as though it’s the last time he’d ever see me. I can only watch as he walks away, gets on the next jeep, and rushes out of my life.

Then I tell the story again. There’s an absence in his eyes, a shiver in his voice that tells me he’s stopped loving me. I choke back tears as I struggle to memorize his face, the lines around his eyes, the tiny hairs on his chin. My palms were sweaty. I didn’t want to see it, didn’t want that last image of him. “Where are you going?” he asks, as though it’s the last time he’d ever see me. I shrug. I didn’t know where I was going. I can only watch as he walks away, gets on the next jeep, and rushes out of my life.

Then I tell the story again. There’s an absence in his eyes, a shiver in his voice that tells me he’s stopped loving me. The October showers are unpredictable and unforgiving. I choke back tears as I struggle to memorize his face, the lines around his eyes, the tiny hairs on his chin. My palms were sweaty. All around me, the world was alive. People rushing through the streets with umbrellas to the sky, never knowing that at that exact moment, a heart was breaking. I didn’t want to see it, didn’t want that last image of him. “Where are you going?” he asks, as though it’s the last time he’d ever see me. I look around me, the streets, the buildings, there was so much going on around me but not a single place felt like home. I shrug. I didn’t know where I was going. I can only watch as he walks away, gets on the next jeep, and rushes out of my life. It starts to rain. The people, they keep walking. They never stop. No one ever does. And that’s what it was like when you broke my heart.

Then I tell the story again. Each time I tell it, I get farther and farther away from you. How many more must I write until I’m over you?

Photo: typewriter
♫: Lucy Rose | Shiver (2012)

8 comments:

  1. The more we forget those memories, the more it lingers in our minds and burns within our hearts.

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  2. Only after I stopped reading the greyed-out lines did I realize what you are going through. I wish you well.

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    1. Mugen: it's funny how you picked up on that because that's actually how i wrote it, i mean it was in that sequence! The grey lines were more of an afterthought.

      And i appreciate the concern. This was more of a memory piece though so I feel like I've cheated you. :p

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  3. "Much like Ring Pops and disposable razors, memories deteriorates with use. It's science. According to a study by Northwestern University, every time we access a memory we tamper with it, editing the past with our feelings in the present. Or to put it like this: the only way to preserve our most precious memories is to forget them." -@carolinecalloway (via instagram)

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    1. D: Oh I just love this! I've read it 3x since you posted it and it's just so spot on. My one grievance: perhaps the only true way to preserve our most precious memories is to write them as soon as it happens. But awwlawwrddyy, do we all know how hard that is!

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  4. "I choke back tears as I struggle to memorize his face, the lines around his eyes, the tiny hairs on his chin."

    Every. Night. Haha

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