July Week 1 Entry
The day I left you, I sat and I waited.
The day I left you, I counted one thousand four hundred and ten leaves on a tree.
The day I Ieft you, I heard two hundred and six cars drive by.
Then you came.
I told myself that I needed it; that I had come to love you less and less.
I also told myself I would not cry. If I did, you'd still win. You had that stupid part of me that I wanted back.
Showing my distress only made you happier. Well, I was miserable. But I was taking you down with me.
The door closed.
I heard you yell my name.
I told you I was leaving.
What followed is a series of words and events that only my heart will know. I can never repeat them. I fear that unleashing them among the world of air and molecules and atoms would make them absolute. Hearing them again would make me sink lower than I did while living in those moments. I am barely staying afloat as it is.
The bag with your stuff dropped at your feet, along with my built up reasons.
You tore me down piece by piece. But I stayed strong. I let your anger fuel me. Not once did I flinch, weep, or sniffle.
You turned to leave, trash bag of belongings in hand. The crunch of the gravel under your feet almost gave a rhythm to the obsceneties you shouted.
And in that new moment I loathed you.
I let myself be freed from your grasp and fell into the inviting and familiar hands of hate. I felt energized. I was alive.
But in a duct, one tiny, single duct, the pressure mounted. I could feel it beginning to squeeze despite my false relief.
And suddenly...
Release.
That tear was so heavy as it rolled down my cheek.
The sound of it exploding against the solid ground was thunderous.
I looked up.
You turned.
And you smiled.
The day I left you, I counted one thousand four hundred and ten leaves on a tree.
The day I Ieft you, I heard two hundred and six cars drive by.
Then you came.
I told myself that I needed it; that I had come to love you less and less.
I also told myself I would not cry. If I did, you'd still win. You had that stupid part of me that I wanted back.
Showing my distress only made you happier. Well, I was miserable. But I was taking you down with me.
The door closed.
I heard you yell my name.
I told you I was leaving.
What followed is a series of words and events that only my heart will know. I can never repeat them. I fear that unleashing them among the world of air and molecules and atoms would make them absolute. Hearing them again would make me sink lower than I did while living in those moments. I am barely staying afloat as it is.
The bag with your stuff dropped at your feet, along with my built up reasons.
You tore me down piece by piece. But I stayed strong. I let your anger fuel me. Not once did I flinch, weep, or sniffle.
You turned to leave, trash bag of belongings in hand. The crunch of the gravel under your feet almost gave a rhythm to the obsceneties you shouted.
And in that new moment I loathed you.
I let myself be freed from your grasp and fell into the inviting and familiar hands of hate. I felt energized. I was alive.
But in a duct, one tiny, single duct, the pressure mounted. I could feel it beginning to squeeze despite my false relief.
And suddenly...
Release.
That tear was so heavy as it rolled down my cheek.
The sound of it exploding against the solid ground was thunderous.
I looked up.
You turned.
And you smiled.