(no subject)
There are a thousand things a person could do to break someone's heart. He could do all of these and I'd stay in tact. He could ask me to be his girlfriend and then cheat on me. He could dump me on our anniversary. He could make me blush with the back of his hand.
And yet, I am responsible every time my heart breaks.
I knew the night would turn out poorly because my legs were tired and the effort I promised I would put into curling my hair was instead wasted on trying to find a way out of the one hour drive. It didn't matter. I sprayed on some perfume, fastened my sandals, and flew out the door with my Garmin in hand anyway. I always tried to convince myself that I needed it despite having memorized the commute like the back of my hand. I mostly paid attention to the estimated time of arrival, sweating the current time against the arrival time, counting the minutes that kept me from being in his apartment.
Unlike all of the other times, this time was different. When I walked up to his apartment, he was sitting on the porch, smoking a cigarette and looking out at the parking lot. I wasn't greeted with a hug or a kiss. I had no reason to expect either, but I wanted them regardless. I stood clumsily in front of him, looking away as I awkwardly adjusted my stance. He talked about horror movies and I politely smiled and nodded, saying "yeah" every so often to break my wall of silence.
Sitting on his bed later that night, I felt like a stranger. We took our respective corners and I hid my embarrassment under his comforters. I knew that I was invited over half for sex and half because he knew I'd been experimenting with weed. I knew this, but I tucked it away and hushed it from my conscience. I had too many feelings for him to let the physical things confuse me.
Of course, like the train wrecks we are, we wound up slipping all over each other again. I stopped thinking, not realizing the album that was playing in the background. He was lunging into me when I caught a line from the song playing- the same one he said he would've written for me if he were in the singer's shoes. The same one I kept locked away on my iTunes, saved for those times when I missed him the most.
I couldn't handle it. I lied. He rolled away and I started to cry. My entire skeleton suddenly felt hollow. My skin was tingling and nervous. I wanted to pick up my shit and run away, cry the entire drive home and pray for slippery conditions. I can't explain the whirlwind of anxiety that overcame me. I was in love with him too late, and still, I held onto this childish notion that something could come from the love I had to give. I was realizing for the first time that nothing was going to come from being with him except sex and poor sleep.
I am entirely shattered. I am closed up again. I don't know when I'll ever open up.
And yet, I am responsible every time my heart breaks.
I knew the night would turn out poorly because my legs were tired and the effort I promised I would put into curling my hair was instead wasted on trying to find a way out of the one hour drive. It didn't matter. I sprayed on some perfume, fastened my sandals, and flew out the door with my Garmin in hand anyway. I always tried to convince myself that I needed it despite having memorized the commute like the back of my hand. I mostly paid attention to the estimated time of arrival, sweating the current time against the arrival time, counting the minutes that kept me from being in his apartment.
Unlike all of the other times, this time was different. When I walked up to his apartment, he was sitting on the porch, smoking a cigarette and looking out at the parking lot. I wasn't greeted with a hug or a kiss. I had no reason to expect either, but I wanted them regardless. I stood clumsily in front of him, looking away as I awkwardly adjusted my stance. He talked about horror movies and I politely smiled and nodded, saying "yeah" every so often to break my wall of silence.
Sitting on his bed later that night, I felt like a stranger. We took our respective corners and I hid my embarrassment under his comforters. I knew that I was invited over half for sex and half because he knew I'd been experimenting with weed. I knew this, but I tucked it away and hushed it from my conscience. I had too many feelings for him to let the physical things confuse me.
Of course, like the train wrecks we are, we wound up slipping all over each other again. I stopped thinking, not realizing the album that was playing in the background. He was lunging into me when I caught a line from the song playing- the same one he said he would've written for me if he were in the singer's shoes. The same one I kept locked away on my iTunes, saved for those times when I missed him the most.
I couldn't handle it. I lied. He rolled away and I started to cry. My entire skeleton suddenly felt hollow. My skin was tingling and nervous. I wanted to pick up my shit and run away, cry the entire drive home and pray for slippery conditions. I can't explain the whirlwind of anxiety that overcame me. I was in love with him too late, and still, I held onto this childish notion that something could come from the love I had to give. I was realizing for the first time that nothing was going to come from being with him except sex and poor sleep.
I am entirely shattered. I am closed up again. I don't know when I'll ever open up.