‹ Prequel: Face Down
Drew A Blank
Drew A Blank
I know I've said this out loud countless times and have written it down even more - if that's possible - but you still exist under my skin.
I'm not afraid of you anymore and I know you're so many hollow miles away that you can't hurt me, but I can still never forgive you. You've made it impossible for me to even trust myself because how can I when someone who loves me more than me says the things you used to say? I'm not afraid of the words anymore, but why, for the love of god, couldn't you have taken my naiveness with you instead of leaving it with me and lighting it up like Broadway? Why couldn't you take your anger with you instead of leaving it caged in my heart with the knowledge I could never release it because of what you told me. Why couldn't you apologize. Why couldn't you say one last goodbye to all of me, instead of just my eyes and leaving me with a kiss and my guilt as my birthday present.
How could you break a young girl's heart?
I've picked up all the shattered pieces left from that May afternoon you threw it onto the ground and I had some friends and my brother and my mom help me glue them all back together but it just isn't the same heart it was. Cracks string all the way through it. There are bits missing. It's lost its luster and shine. I, or anyone else anymore, can no longer see the same beauty it had when it was yours.
When I hand it to someone new they take one look at it and see what it's been through and go on to conclude it's used. It's gross. Who wants a heart worn and weighted by grief and fright? Obviously though, they eventually notice, there's no use weighing a brand-new glittering heart down with bullshit and there's no use breaking something beautiful.
Why use an innocent, beautiful, unknowing girl? This heart obviously knows its shit.
They proceed to line up with their own personal hammers in tow as I stand behind a table, upon which my poor heart rests silent. I listen to all these people have to say and offer them my pre-owned heart, but they say no without thanks and smash it back to pieces.
"Shit," I only whisper, and scramble with superglue to fasten the pieces back in order.
This continues with each member of the line, and I still offer this antique to each of them. I can hear your voice and see your face in the seemingly good and glittering eyes of each of my customers.
Hell, sometimes I can even see you coming.
The line shortens and time drags on and I'm nearly drowning in the tears I've been choking on while no one's looking. I scramble once again to find the pieces on the table and some landed on the floor so I pick them up. I stand, reaching for the glue, because I have one last customer because I decide to close up shop forever and I instantly forget about you. About everything.
He asks me if I'm okay.
For the first time I tell him the truth - that I'm not, and that I'm kind of a handful, and he tells me word for word that he doesn't think that. For the first time I will offer someone my used, antique, broken heart he takes it without looking twice at it, wrapping it securely in bubble wrap and locking it in a safe we both know the combination to.
He holds the door open for me as we walk out of the shop, closed down because he bought out my inventory.
You are nowhere in sight or mind, and I can finally breathe again because I have no idea where you are, and I have no desire to find you.
He never forgets to say goodnight. Or good morning.
He misses me when I'm not near him.
And feels safe when I am.
He accepts everyone in my family. Including pets.
Including dad.
He told me he's not going anywhere.
I can safely say that I believe him.
From now on I'm not focusing on you. I don't care about the shit you said anymore because I finally disagree with it. I finally don't see any good reason to love you because my guilt and fear has finally washed away.
I can give him all of my heart without hesitation because I trust him with something of so much value. I know my antique heart is valuable now. Do you know why?
He reminds me it is each day.
I'm not afraid of you anymore and I know you're so many hollow miles away that you can't hurt me, but I can still never forgive you. You've made it impossible for me to even trust myself because how can I when someone who loves me more than me says the things you used to say? I'm not afraid of the words anymore, but why, for the love of god, couldn't you have taken my naiveness with you instead of leaving it with me and lighting it up like Broadway? Why couldn't you take your anger with you instead of leaving it caged in my heart with the knowledge I could never release it because of what you told me. Why couldn't you apologize. Why couldn't you say one last goodbye to all of me, instead of just my eyes and leaving me with a kiss and my guilt as my birthday present.
How could you break a young girl's heart?
I've picked up all the shattered pieces left from that May afternoon you threw it onto the ground and I had some friends and my brother and my mom help me glue them all back together but it just isn't the same heart it was. Cracks string all the way through it. There are bits missing. It's lost its luster and shine. I, or anyone else anymore, can no longer see the same beauty it had when it was yours.
When I hand it to someone new they take one look at it and see what it's been through and go on to conclude it's used. It's gross. Who wants a heart worn and weighted by grief and fright? Obviously though, they eventually notice, there's no use weighing a brand-new glittering heart down with bullshit and there's no use breaking something beautiful.
Why use an innocent, beautiful, unknowing girl? This heart obviously knows its shit.
They proceed to line up with their own personal hammers in tow as I stand behind a table, upon which my poor heart rests silent. I listen to all these people have to say and offer them my pre-owned heart, but they say no without thanks and smash it back to pieces.
"Shit," I only whisper, and scramble with superglue to fasten the pieces back in order.
This continues with each member of the line, and I still offer this antique to each of them. I can hear your voice and see your face in the seemingly good and glittering eyes of each of my customers.
Hell, sometimes I can even see you coming.
The line shortens and time drags on and I'm nearly drowning in the tears I've been choking on while no one's looking. I scramble once again to find the pieces on the table and some landed on the floor so I pick them up. I stand, reaching for the glue, because I have one last customer because I decide to close up shop forever and I instantly forget about you. About everything.
He asks me if I'm okay.
For the first time I tell him the truth - that I'm not, and that I'm kind of a handful, and he tells me word for word that he doesn't think that. For the first time I will offer someone my used, antique, broken heart he takes it without looking twice at it, wrapping it securely in bubble wrap and locking it in a safe we both know the combination to.
He holds the door open for me as we walk out of the shop, closed down because he bought out my inventory.
You are nowhere in sight or mind, and I can finally breathe again because I have no idea where you are, and I have no desire to find you.
He never forgets to say goodnight. Or good morning.
He misses me when I'm not near him.
And feels safe when I am.
He accepts everyone in my family. Including pets.
Including dad.
He told me he's not going anywhere.
I can safely say that I believe him.
From now on I'm not focusing on you. I don't care about the shit you said anymore because I finally disagree with it. I finally don't see any good reason to love you because my guilt and fear has finally washed away.
I can give him all of my heart without hesitation because I trust him with something of so much value. I know my antique heart is valuable now. Do you know why?
He reminds me it is each day.