Mending Porcelain

t h r e e

"Right," I began, words swallowing the thoughts that were formed with little preparation. I took a pause, breathed the sticky breeze which wistfully danced around me, and thought about my next sentence.

"I think there's something horribly wrong with me. I- I'm not a maniac – not fully, anyway." I chewed out a sarcastic chuckle, but it came out as a mere flush of dry air. I expected his face to change, his eyebrows to shift in question. But he remained calm, diligent and quiet, his left hand dug deep into his hoodie pocket, and his right nearing his lips every few seconds until the cigarette burned to ash, and he buried his blue fingers into the warmth of the hoodie again. The picture of the ring situated lovingly on his fourth finger, left hand, failed to escape my mind.

"I don't feel things anymore." I continued confidently, but the strain in my voice, its harsh tone against the thin icy breath which lingered at the back of my throat, it gave me away. "I've had two birthdays where not once did I smile with genuine satisfaction. Parties, dinners, gatherings where although people were around me, talking to me, telling me jokes which I should be finding funny, I felt like I was trapped in my body.

"I could feel the warmth escape through the tips of my fingers-" at this point I raised my open palm to my face. My knuckles were shockingly white and the veins in my hand were blue and felt like wool. Long, vibrant, and yet so distant and dead. Dead skin was deforming as my fingers moved and slid alongside each other like snakes in a dry place. Each word I spoke was slow and careful. "-I felt the last bit of my being slide right off my hands and dismantle on the floor beneath me. I don't really feel like a person anymore.

"And it's not like I feel horribly sorry for myself. I force myself to get stuff done that I need to get done. But there's no feeling behind it, no real motivation or gratification when I complete what I had to do. There is nothing of value lingering in me anymore, I'm like a stranger to myself." The last sentence bulldozed me. I had not quite come to terms with this notion until the words leapt out of my mouth. I unintentionally fixated my eyes on a patch of dry sand behind a bending boulder, and I let my mind run blank as I forced myself to come to terms with the words that had just escaped me.

His interrogation crept up on me like a violation. "Do you think it's depression?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I don't wanna put such a serious label on it." I took another pause. I felt my chest, dark and heavy and yet I was of no shortness of breath. "That's not even why I'm here today. I've had a boyfriend for a few months and the prick cheated on me two months ago. Back then I understood and didn't really react emotionally. And now today I woke up with a bad feeling and all it took was for me to spill my coffee and it – it triggered me.

"A broken mug and dark puddle on my wooden floors just- it just threw all these emotions at me all of a sudden. That's all it took. And I just started crying, and crying, and suddenly its 2pm and I'm walking on the beach in the rain even though I hate beaches and rain and...still crying about it..."

I'd hoped that the strain in my voice would disappear or at least linger shortly and then disperse, but instead it had engulfed me entirely. I was nothing but a shell of a person sitting on a rock, telling the tales of the heart it once had.

"Why'd he cheat?" there was simply no sympathy in his voice, but it was rather quiet. I didn't know whether it was intentionally soft, or quiet from the cinder he had just inhaled. Despite that, the absence of pity encouraged my honesty.

"Something about me being too dull and him finding true love with another girl. Typical stuff. I wished him well at the time and I meant it... but I would give money to Satan to take that wish back. He'd better rot in hell."

He chuckled audibly. When I turned to look at him, his eyes were fixated on the constant loop on the waves ahead. I wasn't close enough to determine which colour, but from where I sat, through glossy eyes of my own, I could still see his were a light tone. That, or his eyes were a well of water too.

"That's one hell of a something." His breathing was relaxed and clear, the icky air of the salty beach didn't seem to bother his lungs as much as it bothered mine. Just after he took a pause before speaking again, the rain intensified, ploughing at our heads from below. "My girlfriend just did the exact same thing to me earlier today."