This is a quickie warm up I did this evening, and I liked it so much that I even made the featured image. Excuse my inexperience with this language! It might be a short little quip, but I like it all the same.
I broke up with you a month ago, and I’ve felt no loss, no pain, no sting, and no gain.
We dated for years, and I saw your face each day and your lips on my neck each week. Coupling with you in bed wasn’t my favorite, as my intimacy came from the warmth of the blankets, the sound of the waitress asking us for our orders, and the smell of morning coffee.
Several times you asked me, “Are you sure I’m the one you want?: and I said “Yes, I love you, and I’m with you because I want you.” and you said “Okay.”
I’m twenty five, and when my eighteen year old cat died, my Earth began to break and my sky began to shatter. Even with you by my side at night, I lost sleep, unable to feel safe, with my stuffed animals as a poor substitute for the furry round mass that used to purr against my chest, arms, and legs until I fell asleep.
You didn’t understand, as you were never a pet person. That was okay. I still had you to greet me when I left for work and beg me not to go. You were still there to ask me to make dinner and to watch over me while I was sweating with fever. You were still there when I slept.
It wasn’t long until I lost my job too, being gently let go be cause I just wasn’t fitting in anymore, or was it because I could no longer fulfill my duties, or was it cutbacks, or because I wasn’t interested in meeting the boss’ son for dinner last weekend?
As expected, I couldn’t seem to find work. You stayed to support me until I found work, work that I barely tolerated, where I loved on a good day and had meltdowns on a bad day and I didn’t need you to calm me down and I didn’t want you to be around when I celebrated. My heart grew distant, and I didn’t care for work much longer.
As my life dulled, my feelings for you dulled as well. Our love no longer brought me joy, and in time, I started to feel my resentment growing. I turned to my friends for all my needs, my intimacy, my companionship, everything but the sex I didn’t need and you seemed fine with it until you weren’t.
I had to leave before you grew to resent me too. You cried, begging me not to leave, because you could take care of me, I didn’t drink that much, let me have you again, I know you’re sad but I want to support you, but I said no, not because I was too depressed, too unfeeling, too dangerous, but for a reason I couldn’t say. In the morning, I found the empty bottles littering the living room. I’m sorry, but at the same time, I am not. I wouldn’t say that I just didn’t want to date you anymore, after five years of bliss.
I found another place to live, where I fueled irresponsible purchases with the money I made at a job I could barely stand. I drank to drink and smoked to smoke and cried as I hugged my pillows, wishing I could feel something, anything, even if just for a moment.
Six months and I was still the same. I laid in bed, the room beginning to spin because of how much I had drank that night, tears threatening to fill my eyes when I felt a small thump, and an excited rumble begin to erupt from her tiny body. She crawled onto my chest and rubbed her tiny, hot body against my face and licked and chewed my hair and made her unconditional love known to me as I gently ran my fingers through her impossibly soft kitten fur. She only grew to be more affectionate and to show me affection more fiercely than before, almost as if she knew that my body was beginning to starve from the lack of touched.
I smiled, because she was the only one to make me feel anything.
This is more of just a warmup, but since it turned out so well I decided to post it here.
My heart fluttered in my chest. I hadn’t actually traveled alone before. One of my hands gripped the handle on my luggage as I carefully pulled it behind me, the wheels clicking on the cracked pavement outside of the Greyhound station. This was just a layover between busses, and somehow waiting for the next bus the most nervewracking part of the journey.
I pulled open one of the heavy doors to the building, knowing I had to wait about half an hour for my bus. The inside of the station was… seedy, at best. The middle of the room was large and empty, with stray benches along one wall. The other had the ticket takers. I saw a sign advertising a deli towards the back of the room, right above some vending machines that had scratched, cloudy glass. Pressing my lips together, I thought it might be best to skip the probably sketchy bus station deli and not even think about anything from that vending machine. I’d rather wait four more hours to eat than possibly make myself sick on questionable food.
I turned around, promptly heading back outside where everyone else waiting for their busses were. I stationed myself next to a pillar in the middle, nervously putting my hands in my hoodie pockets. A mental inventory of what I had to eat came to half of a bottle of water, one can of coconut water, some nacho cheese, and a bag of goldfish crackers. In my luggage I had 3/4ths a bottle of strong vodka and some saltwater taffy. It’ll have to do.
Remembering that I had a pack of cigarettes in my satchel, I reached in and dug one out, along with my pack of matches. I quickly lit up, taking a nervous drag as I looked around me. Everyone was grouped up with other people. I was alone, in a strange city, hundreds of miles from home.
And then someone caught my attention.