It was 2:46 in the morning when my sanity admitted defeat to its tormenting subconscious. Dazed and confused, I stood up and then sat down upright at my desk. My idle mind was not to be left to its devices any longer. I gazed at the wall, put my dewy hands on my salt-laden cheeks, and surrendered to the gnawing sensation coursing through my body. I had been trying to coax my mind into a dim lull for hours, but each time I shut my eyes a horrifying montage began to roll. The images accelerated at an exponentially increasing rate until my resting body was overtaken by a rousing nausea.
He was with her, faster, his hands learned the curvatures of her body, faster, his fingers ran through her bleach-blonde hair, faster, he pressed his lips against hers, faster, he sighs, faster, faster, faster.
I am awake; I was sweating.
The pain had transcended into something physical, despite my 21-year-old body having no fleshly ails. Sure, I acknowledge there are millions of wonderful persons ‘out there.’ Nevertheless, the cacophonous longings for the one I cannot have are insatiable. So, I don little dresses and silver stilettos and drink cocktails to try and quiet the memories of us together. But still, as the ice had melted in my drink and the bar began to feel like a stockade and the night had turned distastefully stale, I found myself with no choice but to accept Grief’s offer to walk me home.
My battered heart and lonesome mind and cynical spirit have met to become an almighty Holy Trinity that holds sovereignty of my thoughts. Imagining you with someone else still knocks the wind out of me, but I will stay free of you, for my own supposed good.
He was with her, faster, his hands learned the curvatures of her body, faster, his fingers ran through her bleach-blonde hair, faster, he pressed his lips against hers, faster, he sighs, faster, faster, faster.
I am awake; I was sweating.
The pain had transcended into something physical, despite my 21-year-old body having no fleshly ails. Sure, I acknowledge there are millions of wonderful persons ‘out there.’ Nevertheless, the cacophonous longings for the one I cannot have are insatiable. So, I don little dresses and silver stilettos and drink cocktails to try and quiet the memories of us together. But still, as the ice had melted in my drink and the bar began to feel like a stockade and the night had turned distastefully stale, I found myself with no choice but to accept Grief’s offer to walk me home.
My battered heart and lonesome mind and cynical spirit have met to become an almighty Holy Trinity that holds sovereignty of my thoughts. Imagining you with someone else still knocks the wind out of me, but I will stay free of you, for my own supposed good.