…and you’ll go write about it in your journal I felt the words pierce my skin and chill me. When I woke up the exchange still lingered and a pervasive cold clouded my sunshine all day until I stared the storm in the eye. When I realized it wasn’t those words, specifically, that hurt so much I was both relieved and terrified. If it wasn’t that, what would be my reason?
I like to sit in corners. If there is a sectional couch, inevitably my spot will always be in the meeting of the two pieces. Curled into myself, preferably shielded from the world by a soft blanket. I liked to know my back was against the wall, something stable, and I could see all there was to see. Always deeply curious. Always tremendously proud to achieve any goal. I would have to be the best. So good that I would not even compete with others, I was in a league all my own and I was a marvel. I told myself. I reminded myself when his actions would tell me otherwise.
I would ask the question of every man I’ve ever loved. Beginning and ending with him. To date I have never received an answer. I do not anticipate one. So I tell myself how fly I am. How beautiful. How intelligent. How loving kind and generous. I buy myself white peonies and I take myself to dinner. I cry into my Cabernet because I wish like hell you were here with me. More than that, I cry because I so deeply believe that if you’d wanted to be, you would have. And now I wonder if another will fill the pages of empty journals stacked on my bedside table. There is not another option. I am whole and will not exist believing otherwise.