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)