Tonight, I went for my normal emo walk but I kept walking.
Maybe it was the Jon Hopkins I was listening to. Or maybe not. But I didn’t stop. I’m walking now, somewhere.
As I plodded by the Closes and Drives of my neighbourhood, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She’s left me concave, scooped out. Ripped out.
The space where she used to be is a space that she made.
I didn’t ask for it, she did.
I didn’t pursue her, she pursued me.
I tried to keep her out, defend myself because I knew.
I knew how it would end.
As it always does for me. The other moves on and I can’t. The other smiles and forgets and I can’t.
Thinking that, I’m angry at the fucking unfairness of it all. Why do I have to be crippled like this? Why can’t I be like every other human who loves as easily as they lie? They go from declarations of eternal commitment to not even caring if their former love is dead or alive, all in the time it takes to do of a couple of Facebook status updates.
I fall in love and stay in love and never fall out of love and never stop caring and never stop thinking or worrying or wondering where she is, how she is, who she’s with, is she happy with her/him and when she’s making love is it ever bittersweet or never because no-one else is in her head and maybe does she think of me though I know she doesn’t because it’s only me that feels love like that so why am I thinking this I should stop thinking this, it’s insane maybe I am insane but.
This time last week, I was in another country singing songs about her to total strangers. They even knew the words and sang along. At the time, that seemed like a gift, a hug. But now I feel I was lying to them as much as I do to myself.
Inside, I’m screaming, horribly lonely and abandoned. Outside, I’m chatty and friendly, the life of the party. The show must go on.
I ended up walking past my old house. The first one we had together. I slowed as I passed it. Every particle of my body wanted to be back then and there. I can’t believe I fucked everything up so badly.
And now I’m here, little more than an array of increasingly fractured and distant masks. The space between me me and outside me grows wider every day. She used to span it, she used to come in and take my hand and laugh and talk and love and cry. She made me feel pretty.
But she’s gone. And so am I.