Jul 2015
You called me last week, three sheets to the wind in the early hours of the morning; when none but the lovers and the brokenhearted were still awake. Your slurred words crackled slowly through my speaker, and as I sat there listening to your ramblings the familiar sound of your voice lulled me into pleasant memories. All those nights we spent together, barricaded in the bathtub of your rundown apartment laughing at the world because it would never understand a love like ours. I drifted back to reality to hear you pleading for me to come see you, and I don’t know if it was nostalgia or desperation that made me agree.
I drove down the nearly empty streets, tracing the familiar path I had taken so many times before. I hesitated before entering your building, but your voice in the back of my mind drew me in. I traipsed through the musty halls, curious about all the single night romances and tragedies they had seen.
I let myself in with the spare key you never bothered to move, despite my insistence, and found you huddled in our special spot. I could smell the alcohol on your breath as you said all the words I’d have given anything to hear you say sober. You told me you still loved me in a hushed, raspy tone; tinged with something like remorse. You rested your head on my shoulder as I pushed the hair from your eyes, dampened by sweat and spilled drinks. You fell asleep in my arms, and for a while I sat listening to the rhythmic inhales and exhales; and there was nowhere I would rather have been.
I left you there in the bathroom, and wandered through your cluttered dwelling; searching for any sign of the life we used to share. I found one lone photo, tucked carefully in the worn pages of your favorite novel. As I looked at our beaming faces I found myself asking how things ended this way. I remembered the petty fights, and how you were needy while I was distant; all those things that broke us. I craved to know what went through your mind when you saw that same small image. Suddenly I was overwhelmed, clutching the single memento of our relationship while being suffocated by the objects of your new existence. It was too painful to stay any longer. I found your phone face-down on the cracked porcelain sink, deleted my number, and walked out the door before you made a single sign of stirring.
I wonder if you remember that night, or if you woke from your drunken stupor and searched for traces of me; not sure if I’d really been there or was simply part of an elaborate dream. I wonder if you noticed the picture missing from between the pages of that frayed book. I wonder if you tried to call me again, and puzzled over my absent contact. I wonder if you did anything at all.
- K. M.
I drove down the nearly empty streets, tracing the familiar path I had taken so many times before. I hesitated before entering your building, but your voice in the back of my mind drew me in. I traipsed through the musty halls, curious about all the single night romances and tragedies they had seen.
I let myself in with the spare key you never bothered to move, despite my insistence, and found you huddled in our special spot. I could smell the alcohol on your breath as you said all the words I’d have given anything to hear you say sober. You told me you still loved me in a hushed, raspy tone; tinged with something like remorse. You rested your head on my shoulder as I pushed the hair from your eyes, dampened by sweat and spilled drinks. You fell asleep in my arms, and for a while I sat listening to the rhythmic inhales and exhales; and there was nowhere I would rather have been.
I left you there in the bathroom, and wandered through your cluttered dwelling; searching for any sign of the life we used to share. I found one lone photo, tucked carefully in the worn pages of your favorite novel. As I looked at our beaming faces I found myself asking how things ended this way. I remembered the petty fights, and how you were needy while I was distant; all those things that broke us. I craved to know what went through your mind when you saw that same small image. Suddenly I was overwhelmed, clutching the single memento of our relationship while being suffocated by the objects of your new existence. It was too painful to stay any longer. I found your phone face-down on the cracked porcelain sink, deleted my number, and walked out the door before you made a single sign of stirring.
I wonder if you remember that night, or if you woke from your drunken stupor and searched for traces of me; not sure if I’d really been there or was simply part of an elaborate dream. I wonder if you noticed the picture missing from between the pages of that frayed book. I wonder if you tried to call me again, and puzzled over my absent contact. I wonder if you did anything at all.
- K. M.
