before you broke my heart, you should've thought about the hurt—not the kind that crushes spirits, but the kind of hurt that stops steps. see, it is the 'going about' of a day until the graying of the skies. it is the pause from a brisk walk, the sudden hitching of a breathing. in an instant, the serene melodies of nature begin to scratch and rewind without the yellow caution sign preparing my being for an invisible impact. because there it was again—
the convenience store down the street.
𝘰𝘶𝘳 convenience store down the street.
and it is foolish to think that a place way beyond our juvenile pockets was ours to own, but the fleeting memories come back to play a silent movie; as if the weeks of estrangement never took away the ghost of you in the first place.
because there you were—
with your head down, squinting your
hardest as your fingers skimmed over
the chipping letters of the coffee
machine; your ‘nemesis’ as you and
your fuzzy eyesight called it. i‘d point
out the furrowed brow and a goofy
smile would break your face, as it
would my heart.
“sorry, pandora,” you‘d murmur
light-heartedly. you‘d take the basket on
my hand and tell me the drink you
wanted. and to show me your thanks,
you‘d flick my forehead with a smooch
sound effect.
and you‘d leave me in place, rubbing
the spot you chose to bully as you
confidently walked to the counter.
it takes me a minute—or two—to feel my feet again; to feel my right arm halfway up to instinctively reach my forehead. i am staring at the coffee machine, and not at you. not at you. you are only a haunting movie whose ghost of a smile used to kill me.
you still do.
you brought the hurt that brings me places. the kind of hurt that brings me joy in the middle of crowds. and when the bustling begins to morph its noise into an audible name, you have no idea how much the silent movies bring me the happiest kind of pain.
