I sat down across from her, that beauty I knew so well. She had been crying, obvious by the smearing makeup, the telltale red ring. Her face carried a strange look, a begging to be left alone. I had known she did not want to be with me anymore, she had made it beyond clear. Still I sat.
She didn’t start the conversation. Fidgeting uncomfortably in her seat, wanting things to get underway, but not wanting to be the one to do it. The familiarity of this made me ill, but only slightly. Everything I felt of late was only slightly. We all have that point, where you have felt so much that you just can’t feel at all anymore. I didn’t expect to be here again though.
She still wasn’t talking, so I started. I told her I was done being mad, and I was tired. I was so far beyond normal exhaustion. I hadn’t slept for so long, I was beginning to think I didn’t need to at all. I told her I still loved her, but I was right on the edge. I could go either way, with composure and conviction, but it was up to her to decide the path. It takes two people trying to recover from something like this. I didn’t think she had the fight in her. I don’t know if she even wanted to have it.
She said she was sorry. How many times I had heard that, I had lost count. She kept saying it though, over and over, as a fresh torrent erupted from her eyes. I wanted to throw it back at her, I wanted her to explain why she could do something that she knew would cause such devastation, something she knew she would regret. I didn’t, though. I told her I wasn’t here for an apology, but rather to see if she wanted to seek redemption.
I could see everything twisted up in her, the two halves of her soul, pulling back and forth, threatening to split her in two. I knew she couldn’t decide, we had been here before. Over and over we had danced around this topic, fight or flight, try or fly. I told her I couldn’t keep sitting, inaction was eating me away, feelings of powerlessness eroded any sense of control in my own life. Part of me despised her, and part despised myself, that I had again allowed someone so close, and again it had hurt me. I rubbed my forehead, as if feeling scars upon my soul, layered upon each other, each larger than the last. This new one, a gaping wound, injury beyond imagination. My focus shifted back to her, that beautiful, sad face. She was watching me, trying to guess what was coursing through my mind.
She asked me if I hated her. I told her no. It was true, I was beyond hate now. I didn’t even hate him anymore. Part of my inner deadness, perhaps, though I would rather think it was a new enlightened maturity. Probably not, but it was comforting to think I was still gaining strength, and not losing it. I told her no matter what she did, I would always love and care for her, I just wouldn’t be around.
There were more words, more tears, and we ended where we always did. She needed more time, she wanted to figure out who she was, and what she wanted. I nodded and told her that was a good idea, even though I wanted to tell her she already knew, and that she should just be honest with me. I stepped out, lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and held it. I had quit years ago, she didn’t want to marry a smoker. Now, she stepped out behind me and lit one of her own. I smiled to myself. Life is absurd, even when it made sense, it was always as horrid as it seemed right now.
She walked to her car, got in, and drove away. I stayed on the street, lit another cigarette, and let feeling rush over me again. It was drowning, just as it had felt before, but today I just didn’t feel like fighting it anymore.
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