Post Office ✓

01 | mailbox

Author's Note: It's back! Mazel tov!

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01 • mailbox

If I thought this would be eternal, then I would be lying to you. I knew about boys like Blaise Cohen. They were beautiful, down to the finset detail. Dripping with sex even in the coldest of climates. Boys like him felt as if they ruled the world.

And the swagger, the money, the attitude; it was charming somehow. He was young and reckless, as was I. I had a long list of ex-lovers who wanted to burn me at the stake. I had my baggage, my fair run of playing the game.

But he was no different. I was the one who was different. When I was around him, I felt the butterflies, like a cage match to get out of my stomach. Never had I faltered in the presence of a guy.

Yet Blaise somehow knew how to get inside my head. I was a solution made of the perfect mixture of stolen kisses, pretty lies, and a whole bottle of jealousy. I was driven mad by the way his lips looked when he was lying. The way his bottom lip curved more slightly outward when he would say something like 'she's just a friend' and how the creases under his eyes would bolden after being accused of something that was actually the truth.

Yes, he made me really mad. Enough that I would scream, scream at the top of my lungs. It didn't hurt as much though. I had been drunk in love with Blaise Cohen, each drink numbing my throat so that it felt like the noises I made came out of the air and not from out of my body.

Which was why he couldn't stay. Which was why it all went down in flames. Which was why he left me, gasping and reeling, for London. I had become something that no one could be around without feeling the heat of my anger. I was that fire that burned your house down in your nightmares, the same one he held me by in my daydeams. Nothing was the same except everything that needed to change. How he was always going to be the type of boy who let things go way too far and I had lost my ability to take my own step back.

He was gone and needed to stay gone. Now and forever.

Like all things that do, he came back.

And though the universe had played a hand, it could all be blamed on the fact that I had allowed us to be entrapped in such a senseless game.

Post Off•ice
a game played by children where kisses are exchanged for pretended letters.

Of course, the letters were real. Like everything was with us; the pain, the pleasure, the stakes. They were real and with every kiss, they got realer. And maybe, just maybe, that was the best part. I had went so long without him and only with the fantasies that never left me, that maybe I needed the truth to ground me.

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The best thing about Thanksgiving break was that I had time to myself. To live and breathe at the same time. I had been doing the latter without the former for the entirety of this term so far and when it all slowed down and the weights were lifted off of my shoulders, the sensation of my expanding lungs was enough to have me ride on a wave of sudden ecstasy.

Point being, I never really got time off like this.

My friends, Hayley and Rachel seemed not to have gotten this, for they were busy at the café where they could fret over the terrors that awaited them at the end of break without me. I was perfectly fine with that in all honesty. It was much better than being in a room with three stressed out girls, or being in a room with stressed out people period. I carried enough of it on my own just from not being able to find a good book in the library, so that times three over tests and assignments that could either get us stable futures or otherwise was no fun place to be.