I think about you leaving me.
a lot.
us fighting, rain slamming down like bullets on our house
you, saying you're done.
telling me it's done
tears streaming down your face as your jaw clenches in finality
a look in your eye, as if knowing that this is the last time
your voice whispering two words as you shut the door behind you
"I'm sorry."
and your eyes, your eyes looking somewhere, anywhere in between your feet and mine
your footsteps fading into the rain as you walk away from us.
and then the rip
the gash
the fucking
hole being carved into me
as if when your footsteps left this house, taking you with them, they also tore out a part of me for you to carry into the downpour.
it's usually that pain being the thing to wake me up
my pillow, now damp with the smell of sweat and tears, my eyes find the ceiling and my thoughts find my heart being ripped apart.
and I'll lay there praying, though to whom I don't know,
that it wasn't real.
that it isn't real.
that it won't. be. real.
that I'll be enough for you, forever and always.
both of which I have never experienced.
maybe that's why I think about it a lot.
because for me, everything has been temporary.
I'm so fucking used to being used and tossed aside.
to being nothing but a fucking distraction for everyone
once they don't need to be distracted anymore I hold no value
and they start to realize the pointlessness of dead weight.
for me, nothing has lasted,
Nothing.
and so my brain, and my body and heart and soul prepares me for what they all believe to be inevitable
you not needing me anymore.
and, here's the thing,
it's good for you if you don't need to be distracted anymore
because that means you're okay.
maybe if I tell myself that enough times when my eyes are opened
those words will find their way to me when I hear the door click shut.
and the rain muffle.
and your footsteps fade.
because I'll know that I was just a distraction
one that you loved.
and that walking away from us was really your final words that didn't have to be spoken.
"I'm okay."
YOU ARE READING
short(er) stories
Contosometimes you don't have to write a novel to tell a story. a collection of short stories just for you.
