… not think about him anymore.
I went to bad last night, quietly seething, hollow with hurt, and determined not to wake up feeling this way anymore. To wake up and be magically healed, my mind unfettered with questions and wants and maybes. And if not by magic, by murder; if I had to I’d wake up this morning and smother all my feelings underneath so much denial, so much distraction that eventually they would stop fighting me back. They’d stop gasping for air. They’d just die.
I woke up this morning determined to be strong, to take all the things I’ve learned about love, about myself, and apply them objectively to what I’ve been feeling for far too long.
And then there he was. In between the moments of waking, and sleep, still groggy and barely lucid, he burst in, vivid and sharp, like turning on a TV in a dark room. In startling color he reminded me of all the things I wanted, but could not have.
I made it 5 minutes.
There’s always tomorrow morning.
(November 6th writing prompt from Writer’s Relief Blog )
Liquor, Loans & Love 