Life's Sound Track

 Run it again...

Dewberry

3 am

I find myself coming awake in stages. Aware that I should be asleep but a persistent nagging feeling that something is off. My conscience mind trying to remember what mattered enough to wake me, what dream I was having that caused me to wake. And then I remember it's over. And then I start to cry.

I have cried consistently every night since that morning. At 3am. Clockwork. My circadian rhythm waking me to grieve you. There is no shame in my tears. Just a pragmatic leaking of pain. Sadness is a function of loss. All you can really do is sit with sad and hold it's hand and wait. As blood eventually clots tears eventually stop.   

I don't know what I thought was going to happen. I did not think that you would choose to walk away. Maybe because I thought you cared more than that. Maybe because no one ever has. I dreamt it before it happened. In my dream you text me to tell me that you didn't want to just be friends. As I was calling you to ask you what you wanted, because I was willing to give you the world, I woke up. In my wakefulness you said goodbye. 

It hurts. One part of me is really proud of you for being willing to pick a side. For not putting up with nonsense. For holding me accountable. 

Another part of me is really disappointed in you for being a quitter. For not seeing your part in the whole thing. For treating me like a game. For not apologizing. 

I went by your job on Monday, in fact. I discovered that you had the holiday off. It occurred to me that if you wanted to spend time with me you could have done so any time that weekend. And swiftly behind that realization was the idea that you didn't like me the way that I liked you. I was to you a pleasant distraction, a diversion, nothing material. Meanwhile I was naming our future children. A dichotomy of epic proportions. 

I knew I had to blow it up. I knew it was going to hurt eventually anyway so why not now. And so the rest ensued. 

I do not regret my extreme behavior. I do regret the need for it. I do regret the precipice of love from which I was jerked back. I do regret coming to see you at all. The past would have been better left in the past. I had already dealt with the loss of you once. The resurrection of the feelings that I had for you picked up where they left off, no rebuilding needed. So the loss of you, again, was magnified exponentially. Which is to say it mattered more and hurt more.

The worst part is the idea that while I am up at 3am taking a part an putting together the whole situation in one million ways; I am sure you are peacefully slumbering. Not even giving me a second thought. Toy broken, discarded, replaced. 

this hurts. 

and not even writing is making it better. 

A