Maysilee never had the happiest recollection from her youth, but from falling hopelessly in love with a Danish boy to gathering the pieces of her crushed heart and moving on with the son this love left her, everything was still painfully clear in he...
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Being in a room with Mads, with distance kept, at one point or another, I could notice he's been staring at me with a smile for a full five minutes. At night, during his sleep, if far from one another, he unconsciously would draw himself closer and wrap his arm around me - one of the reasons I would wake up sweating during summer. When eating together, if I was prone to eating slow, he'd slow down as well to match my pace. He'd predict my habits and acts before I could even consciously decide to do it - don't forget the umbrella this time, your shoes are under the bed, you'll miss that show you like, you left that shirt in my room last night...
So I know that in some deranged way, he loves me, excluding me into a world of rainbows and butterflies and nothing's wrong with us, we love each other, don't we?
I'm sure he had in his mind plans of someday who knows telling me about his lie. But just like Mikkel, only telling me in a point of no return when I wouldn't be able to detach from him, love so rooted I'd bleed if I were to tear him out.
So that's what I'll deprive him of, love.
It'd be compassionate of me to allow him an explanation, an opportunity for apologies, a chance, a goodbye to the very least. I wanna offer none, I wanna be cold. I have made my mind, I'll be going home to never come back by the end of the week, and no one could derive me from my decision.
Along the week, alone and quietly, I star organizing myself, arranging clothes back into the single luggage I brought, setting aside only the clothes I'd need for the week, deciding what to leave behind and what to take back with me - the music tapes I never even bothered listening to will stay, the few clothes I bought here will stay, but the ballet supplies I acquired will go with me as well as the books I bought, the ones lent by Mikkel will be rightfully returned to him, notebooks filled with cheap poems of being sad and in love will be burned to ashes once I get home.
This is an actless breakup, no drama, no questioning, no goodbyes. I leave, he stays, it's over.
My ex was easy to extract from my life, at least in the external matter, there wasn't much to be removed. But the things Mads said and did are patched into my skin - I have his smell on me, I find myself mimicking his mannerisms, I used to arrange my day to have time with him and wait for it with passionate eagerness. Mads wasn't about the material things - I could leave behind the gifts, the shared utensils, his old shirts I adopted to myself, get rid of the poems -, he's embedded me in the shape of dangerously emotional memories.
Part of my act is giving Mads the cold shoulder. Over are the days of snuggling on the sofa - I'm tired -, of sharing kisses and caresses - I'm disgusting form rehearsal, what about later -, of saying I love you every two hours - I'm not quiet, I'm just thinking.
If with Mads no bonds would be explicitly broken, to others I owe at least the minimum of explanations to why, in less than a week, I'd be off the Danish map. I wanted to begin with the academy since they're my work link and they would need this gap to find someone to replace me. I have an understudy, so it's all a matter of warning them and preparing her to take on as a lead.
