Alone Again

"A lot has happened.

Somehow I am all by my lonesome, again.

I could ponder on about the million and one things I could've possibly done differently, so you would've done differently, so we would've done differently. I could contemplate and rationalise the pain I felt or inflicted on you so many times over that I couldn't feel it anymore. I could agonise over the way we ended things, the last time I ever saw your face, or kissed your cheeks, or felt the warmth of your tongue swirling like crashing waves, leaving behind a ripple that resonates deep into the very numbness of my soul.

I could think about you positively. When one is self-destructive, to think of another positively is to think of the other as doing it for reasons besides spite. I heard the jarring clatter of your heart being wrenched open, and the frantic pitter-patter of you keeping it all together. I saw the reluctance and pain and sorrow and tragedy and misery and agony in that kiss I had no idea was our kiss goodbye. I know you wished me well.

I could think of you positively.

I could imagine you in my mind, in our room, slowly but surely prepping yourself for the monumental task to come. I saw you organise our things, our life, into boxes and up onto the few shelves you could still spare me in your heart. The others went out down the garbage chute as you forcefully embraced freedom from the chains that chain, the bonds that bond, and the ties that bind.

I have an addictive personality.

Dissociation is addictive. Loneliness is addictive. Pain is addictive. Melancholy is addictive.

But so is freedom.

And if there's anything I hope you'd know it would be this:

I wish you nothing but the best,"

he said as he clicked in confirmation.

.