Sunday, November 27, 2011

empty bed.

It's reaching out across the bed in the dark and grasping only air. There's no one there. Just me and this darkness. Me pondering people. Evaluating every relationship I've ever had and finding that I was the one to cause their destruction and downfall. Why did I cry? Why did I over-react? Why did I react at all? Didn't I realise that this was something amazing? And stupid things, like you being anti-social, didn't matter in the Great Scheme of Things? It doesn't matter now. None of your flaws matter. Mine matter. Because they're all I have left.

I have two beds – a single bed at college, a double bed at home. My double bed has lots of memories. It's too big with just me in it. I imagine that there's someone else there, a lover sleeping peacefully beside me, grinding his teeth and breathing deeply. My single bed is for me alone. I've never shared it with anyone else. It has no romantic or sexual connotations. It is for sleep and nursing a sore, hung-over head. There's no room for anyone else. That feeling, that notion, is a glorious one. It is a luxury for me not to miss someone. But when I'm here on my own at home in my double bed at four in the morning and I'm half-dreaming about old flames and missing them more than I could ever explain, bed is not comfortable or comforting. It's cold and dreary and utterly tragic. And half empty.

And I'm thinking about everything. I'm thinking about you tonight. I rarely think about you. I try not to. It still stings and I'm embarrassed. I can't talk about you. Talking about you is worse. I can't hear your name mentioned without feeling uncomfortable and sad and lonely. And half-empty. And furious with myself. I should be furious with you. I was for a while. And then there was mutiny and I just got angry with myself.

You said you never loved me. Why did you say that? Maybe it was true – maybe I'm unlovable. But why did you tell me you loved me? Why did you make me feel safe and happy and loved? And why am I still thinking about you almost a year later?

Maybe if things hadn't ended like that, I'd be over you by now. I loved you. I love you. But we didn't last that long and you shouldn't still matter. But what you said – the words coming out of your mouth that I didn't believe were yours – broke my heart. And I went and did everything you said I'd do and I hated myself more for it. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy from the moment the words left your mouth.

I don't know why I'm thinking about you tonight, in the small hours of the morning. I'm lonely. I'm sad. I'm nostalgic. I miss you. I miss everything about you. Everything. Even your flaws. Maybe even especially your flaws.

You're not here and you'll never be here again. And I don't think I'll ever get over that fact.

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