Jul 2014
She tells them all that she's fine.
She's told everyone it seems. These days, it's all people want to know. And it's not that all of them ask outright - they ask with their eyes, they ask with that sympathetic frown that makes her want to break something. Several somethings, truth be told.
And God, it makes her furious. She is no longer one of two - she's just one. She's fractured, and she's jagged, but she's one. So if they could stop bringing up that pulsating space in her chest, that would be ideal.
It's never easy - learning to breathe when your lungs are full of ash, your eyes full of the past and your heart still triumphant, but no longer whole.
And God, it makes her lonely.
She's been addicted to him for months, for years, but that was excusable then. They were indestructible. The ideal couple. They were sunlight on her hair, they were his resonating laugh.
It only becomes inexcusable when they stand next to each other, but their gazes are averted. Their hands aren't linked. When her hair falls into her face, it stays there. When his collar falls haphazardly, it stays that way.
It only becomes an addiction when she wants to whisper into his ear but no longer can. It only becomes an addiction when she forgets the touch of his hands.
So when they stumble against each other one night, and she fits against him the way that she's always done, and he holds onto her like a drowning man - she lets go for a moment. Their relationship was never built on stable stones. It was built on fire, and it was built on ice, and it was built on a length of time that made sure that one could never think back without the other being present, somewhere. He was always too old for her friends, she too young for his. But they fit together so well. Her head just under his chin, her hands on his shoulder blades.
It only becomes an addiction when they repeat, time and time again. It only becomes an addiction when his lips on hers taste of sin, and when their shared breaths are secrets to be kept.
She tells them all that she's fine.
She tells him that she's fine.
She tells herself that she's fine.
And one of these days, someone might just believe it.
She's told everyone it seems. These days, it's all people want to know. And it's not that all of them ask outright - they ask with their eyes, they ask with that sympathetic frown that makes her want to break something. Several somethings, truth be told.
And God, it makes her furious. She is no longer one of two - she's just one. She's fractured, and she's jagged, but she's one. So if they could stop bringing up that pulsating space in her chest, that would be ideal.
It's never easy - learning to breathe when your lungs are full of ash, your eyes full of the past and your heart still triumphant, but no longer whole.
And God, it makes her lonely.
She's been addicted to him for months, for years, but that was excusable then. They were indestructible. The ideal couple. They were sunlight on her hair, they were his resonating laugh.
It only becomes inexcusable when they stand next to each other, but their gazes are averted. Their hands aren't linked. When her hair falls into her face, it stays there. When his collar falls haphazardly, it stays that way.
It only becomes an addiction when she wants to whisper into his ear but no longer can. It only becomes an addiction when she forgets the touch of his hands.
So when they stumble against each other one night, and she fits against him the way that she's always done, and he holds onto her like a drowning man - she lets go for a moment. Their relationship was never built on stable stones. It was built on fire, and it was built on ice, and it was built on a length of time that made sure that one could never think back without the other being present, somewhere. He was always too old for her friends, she too young for his. But they fit together so well. Her head just under his chin, her hands on his shoulder blades.
It only becomes an addiction when they repeat, time and time again. It only becomes an addiction when his lips on hers taste of sin, and when their shared breaths are secrets to be kept.
She tells them all that she's fine.
She tells him that she's fine.
She tells herself that she's fine.
And one of these days, someone might just believe it.
2am without you is hard
