Last week I could have written the angriest words. My skin felt tighter around my flesh to the point where I thought I might start showing thin over the parts I used to punch at my feelings for you. My body dissolved every feeling of ecstasy I had aligned with our memories. If you had been a blade of grass, I would have pulled you out at the roots and exposed the part of you I had just discovered and wish didn't exist.
On Friday, Sadness joined my Anger. They fought and Anger won after I said bad things about you because my body couldn't release the steam quick enough. I became the water that spits around the bottom of the kettle and starts screaming until you remove the heat from under it. But you're a flame that doesn't like to be put out. So I poured alcohol over my wounds and lost you in the spinning of the room.
On Saturday, Sadness crept in while Anger was still sleeping and quietly held a pillow to its face. Then crawled and sat on my shoulder and sang me songs that had you hidden in the lyrics. I tried to push it away but it followed me around a room full of people and joined my conversations around a table of pretty faces so I drank on behalf of both of us and made sure you were held down at the bottom of my glass.
Yesterday, Sadness called in sick and realised I woke up next to Disappointment. It was there with a purpose, walking behind me, quoting reassurances I had heard from your lips. It had a journal and as it ran its finger down each page, it sang to me all the things you hadn't kept to. It started painting a picture of you and I noticed there were colours I didn't like, ones that had been harder to spot earlier but now stood out so bright that I had to look away. Everywhere I went, those exact colours jumping at me, splashing onto my skin and soaking through my hair. But I lacked the energy to scrub you off and now I wear your disappointments as a permanent reminder of a human condition: That people are selfish.
Today I was surprised to see that I was unaccompanied. Maybe you're putting up less of a struggle for my psyche to throw out. I remember when you would run by 118 times in one day and I'd welcome you back with a smile each time. But now I think of you only in fleeting moments and even then, Disappointment waves from across the street. I can feel you moving away and the spaces between us getting darker. I know that one day the the last light will flicker to its death and we'll be left with nothing. At lease nothing we can see or touch or taste. Like we were both figments of our own imaginations, created to revive our faith in a love we had both watched die. You needed someone to show you that the crying would eventually stop and that your heart could still skip even while it was broken. What is left for me now after I've put all the pieces back together?
Tomorrow I am certain of just one thing, that you will be further from my thoughts as I am further from your heart.
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