Hearts Like Glass


It was just past eight and I was feeling somewhat reckless. I wanted out of this game that he was playing. I forced myself to glance at his pale face, propped up on the four pillows beneath his head. He shifted uncomfortably in his sleep. There was a letter in my hand. It was addressed to him but he didn’t know that yet. I tried to laugh this bad feeling off but the action left a bitter taste in my mouth. My grip on the flimsy white envelope tightened as if it were about to fly away. I needed to do this. It was all for the best.

Stick to the plan, I told myself. My mind kept drifting, thinking about irrelevant things like how I was dying for a jumbo-sized hotdog at that moment. How I could even think that? I was about to make the biggest decision of my life (so far) and all I could think about was my longing for a jumbo hotdog! With mustard… Damn! Another irrelevant thought. My mind kept bringing forth these thoughts that did not constitute as ‘sticking to the plan’. Like all these thoughts about the irrelevancy of my thoughts when I should really be sticking to this self-appointed plan.

Now I realised that I was hesitating. I’d been sitting here for what? Half an hour? I could’ve just dropped the letter onto the bedside table the moment I arrived and then left again but here I was, thinking irrelevant thoughts about jumbo hotdogs with mustard and my self-appointed plan. Hadn’t the plan been to leave the letter where he would find it and then leave myself? So technically, I’d been sitting here, telling myself over and over to stick to the plan when actually I’d already failed my mission by doing the complete opposite of the plan. Argh, irrelevant thoughts again.

I dropped the letter on the bedside table, next to the empty glass and jug full of water but I still didn’t leave. There were so many things in that letter that I didn’t say and that I probably would never say if I didn’t say them now. This was my only chance.

“Do those thoughts count as irrelevant too?” I asked no one in particular but looked around for someone to answer anyway. Upon finding that it was just me and him, I sighed and began my mini-speech.

“Peter, I’ve left you a letter. But there are things I didn’t say that I’m going to say now. For instance, in this letter of mine I haven’t explained this at all. In fact, in that letter I sort of just rambled and most of you don’t need to read but I know you will. Damn, I’m rambling again. Erm… I need stability. It’s something that I never had and I like it. Peter… you’re not stable, you’re all shaky and wibbly and wobbly and jagged around the edges. You’re not defined and organised and even though you say you know where this life is going I know that you have no fucking idea. You’re just like Jell-O and you know how much I hate that stuff. Hell, I don’t just hate it; I’m terrified of it. Don’t laugh. Oh wait, you’re asleep. But like I said, stability is something that I need, something I like, and something I want. And I know I’m really unorganised when it comes to lunch dates and stuff and that my flat is a total dump but I don’t mean that sort of stable I mean stable as in mentally stable and physically stable. And I don’t want to see you like this. But look on the bright side; you don’t have to buy two extra boxes of cereal anymore. Yeah, I know, that’s a shitty bright side. Bye Peter.”

There were lots of other things I wanted to say but I kept them to myself because tears were gathering in my eyes and I knew that if I said anything else I would start crying and he would wake up and I would be sitting next to him crying and then he would find the letter and I’d watch him read it, telling myself to leave but I wouldn’t because I’m just that weak. And worst of all, I’d have to the look on his face when he realised I was leaving him. And then I’d walk away.

Finally, I accumulated enough strength and stood up, brushed myself off and wiped my eyes, and left. I didn’t look back once although there was a voice inside my chest that was telling me to turn around and take it all back. I didn’t even think about him as I left. I was just leaving, thinking my completely irrelevant thoughts about hotdogs and mustard and about the kitten I wanted my mom to buy me for Christmas. And then I thought about how Christmas was a long way away and then I felt depressed and I then joked inwardly to myself about overdosing and then I was reminded of Peter. But by that time I was already at my car and when I looked back there was no one else there but me. The entire street was empty. The shops were all closed too. And there wasn’t even a fucking hotdog stand.

Karma sure is a bitch.
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