Untouched
separation.
There is no separating the bad moments from the good moments anymore. There is only the bad bleeding into every good thing we ever had when we were still together. There is only the feeling of a punctured lung. These are flooding waters towering over in a wave. I have not felt the happy warmth of a safe hug from him in years. I have been left in the bitter cold to fend for myself with no scarf, no mittens, old socks filled with holes.
That is what happens when your boyfriend of years kills himself out of the blue.
Or maybe it just felt out of the blue because now there is a before and an after. Now there is the interlude between a marathon of kaleidoscope movie moments and the sad black and white oldies. A growing static that eats at my ears, rising up to a crescendo. Before silence. Pure, angry silence. Stifling silence. All consuming quiet. And confusion.
We used to get ice cream at this one place in downtown. Painted Christmas trees in the windows and the smell of sugar floating through the air in waves. Now it feels like a mockery when I walk past it in the mornings. I have taken to walking the long way to work because my memories of it have been tainted. And I still want to believe in our magic, even after everything.
What would it take to get that magic back? Perhaps I will have to wait years. There will come a time when the colors in the world brighten and time no longer stands still. Today is not that day, but I’m hopeful for tomorrow. Tomorrow the snow will fall and shed the stars from my eyes. Tomorrow I will remember us dancing, all the jokes we spent all day laughing at, tomorrow I will remember the version of us that loved each other.
That is what happens when your boyfriend of years kills himself out of the blue.
Or maybe it just felt out of the blue because now there is a before and an after. Now there is the interlude between a marathon of kaleidoscope movie moments and the sad black and white oldies. A growing static that eats at my ears, rising up to a crescendo. Before silence. Pure, angry silence. Stifling silence. All consuming quiet. And confusion.
We used to get ice cream at this one place in downtown. Painted Christmas trees in the windows and the smell of sugar floating through the air in waves. Now it feels like a mockery when I walk past it in the mornings. I have taken to walking the long way to work because my memories of it have been tainted. And I still want to believe in our magic, even after everything.
What would it take to get that magic back? Perhaps I will have to wait years. There will come a time when the colors in the world brighten and time no longer stands still. Today is not that day, but I’m hopeful for tomorrow. Tomorrow the snow will fall and shed the stars from my eyes. Tomorrow I will remember us dancing, all the jokes we spent all day laughing at, tomorrow I will remember the version of us that loved each other.