The Imaginary Life

Another Shitty Sunday

If not now, then when?

A month has now gone by since the last time I wrote, which leaves two possibilities: my life truly does suck, or each time I sit down to write it's because I'm depressed.

Although, let's face it, my life isn't all that bad. I'm not going to put myself through the wringer. But, the fact is, I have to admit that every time I've fired up the laptop these past months it's been to write sad stuff, even though, according to my therapist, I'm cured now, and seeing as I'm cured, she literally threw me out of her office. I wouldn't let it lie:

"So when should I come back?"

"You don't have to come back, Nata. You said yourself you only came here in order to get over your breakup with Alberto. Well, I can confirm it: you're over it. We're done with these sessions. I think you're smart enough to know that you no longer want to be with him. For starters, because it's highly unlikely that he'll ever come back to you. And secondly, because you won't want to get back together with Alberto ever again."

So I got up, thanked her, and took my leave. And sent you a text as soon as I was out the door: Beto, this is just to let you know that I'm done with therapy because I'm over you. xxx.

You didn't reply.

Which was when it struck me that if I'm capable of sending you a text before I've even reached the foot of the stairs to my therapist's office; if I'm capable of writing to you again when you have yet to reply to a single one of the texts I've sent you since we broke up; if I'm capable of still thinking about you when you have not once taken the time during these past three months to ask me how I am, even if just to check whether I'm still alive or if I've slit my wrists; if I'm capable of holding you in my thoughts despite everything, perhaps the only thing I can truly be sure of is that I am NOT cured. It looks like I've wasted my money on my therapist. Great.

"Because it's highly unlikely that he'll come back to you," she had said. And to cap it all, she said "for starters." "For starters, because it's highly unlikely that he'll come back to you." She came out with this while holding my gaze, without as much as a blink. Without giving me the right to reply, unable to say, "What would you know?".

Because what does she know? She doesn't know you. No matter how much I opened up about you during our sessions, she's never seen you, she doesn't know what you're like, or what we were like, or how much we loved each other. She didn't see you that day when you told me we had to talk, that you had something very important to tell me. She didn't see how you cried, how you held me tight in the rain and told me you loved me as you had never loved anyone else and that, for that very reason, you had to leave me, because we were hurting each other, because it couldn't go on like this, because all we did now was fight, because we were a long way from where we started, a long way from making each other tremble with desire, from feeling that the world was ours, that it belonged to the two of us. She didn't listen to your doubts: "If not now...if not you." She didn't hear you say "for a while." Nor did she hear you call me "my love."

My love, it's just for a while. If we break up, we're giving ourselves the chance to miss each other, to find out what we want from life."

"My Love," you said. Love.
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Third Chapter done. So sorry this is short but please comment and like!!
One New Chapter everyday!!