Alright I know I’ve been slacking. For that, I am sorry. However, things have been actually very good in my life lately so I haven’t had too much to write about. Unfortunately if I want to have any output at all I have to have a broken heart or being currently involved in a train wreck relationship. Since neither of these is happening right now, there is obviously no writing to be done. But Amanda inspired me to write today, and I learned that if I want to write all I have to do is break my own heart which is easier to do than it sounds. Therefore, I give you what I wrote tonight. Not much, since I got distracted a bunch of times and lost my train of thought. But at least it’s something. The first two things are just quotes I’ve been bouncing around in my head for the last couple days. Still trying to get them nailed down.
She was just a girl whose love blinded her to how strong his love was.
Life goes on, except for those of us who have lost. Some of us are swept out to sea, some of us pick ourselves up, and some of us never recover. We watch others live their lives as though they’ve never hurt, burning with jealousy because we can’t keep living without the one who lit our fire. Without the flame, all that’s left to do is try and keep up the façade of life.
He stared at the blank page, willing the words to come. He sat praying that somehow he would find a way to transform his complex emotions, thoughts and feelings into crude and mundane words. He stared and stared; hoping that by some miracle a divine hand would reach down and help him string together the words that would bring her back. But it was an exercise in futility. What was the point in even trying when she’d made her opinion clear time and time again; things just weren’t the same, they weren’t the same, and nothing was the same. God that was what really got him; her constant declarations and loudly voiced opinions of the state of their lives. Didn’t she know he understood? Didn’t she understand how deeply her words cut him every time she would say how uncertain things were? He mused over these questions before tossing them to the wind; there was no point wondering and hoping for answers when he knew none would be found.
He stared at the page for a while longer, before finally giving up and storming to the kitchen to grab the bottle. This routine was as familiar to him as breathing now. The only way to relieve the tension and frustration that came from trying to write that fucking letter was to drink, and drink deeply at that. It dulled the pain, dulled his senses and of course, dulled the gaping hole in his heart that ached every second of every day. The hole that had ached, burned, froze and HURT for the last 3 years. He paused in his search for the bottle, the sensation of time passing hitting him like a ton of bricks. 3 years? Had it really been that long? His hands started to shake as the hollow sensation settled into his stomach. He knew what was coming now. He started frantically digging through the cabinets trying to find the bottle before the storm hit.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” he muttered under his breath as he felt the tears begin to well and his throat begin to tighten. He wouldn’t lose composure again. If he could just find the damn bottle…
Suddenly his fingers skidded across the familiar shape of the bottle. Grasping it tightly, he jerked it out from the cabinet, tore the cap off and took a healthy swallow. The whiskey burned all the way down, just the way he knew it would. He waited for the quiet fire to flood out from his stomach into the rest of his limbs. And as the numbness set in, he knew peace for a while.
Groggily, he awoke to a sunbeam across his face. This was always the worst; the transition from numb bliss to gradual awareness. Images flashed across his vision, each one tearing its claws into him, each one a shattered glass fragment of her. There, a smile and there, a happy memory. Here a vision of her in tears and here an image of her as she walked away for the last time; her hair glowing like fire in the sunlight, her shadow a perfect silhouette of her state of mind, her hands clenched into the tiny fists he’d found so adorable. As the memory faded away, his awareness faded in. He looked around and realized he’d fallen asleep on the kitchen floor. Dammit, he thought, no wonder she left you. Look at you, you’re pathetic. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them and lifted himself up off the floor, an oddly poetic metaphor for the situation he’d put himself in.