I remember slumping on my bed
Staring off into stale air
Callous
Creased brows
Kind of numb
Thinking, "Any day now it'll come."
I tried to be porous, convinced that
Vulnerability would invite one helluva storm
And purge the last of this poison
"You just need to have one really good cry," a friend told me once
"One good, hard cry so you never cry about it again."
So I was patient
I felt the radiating sadness still
And curling up alone at night felt alien still
But nothing inside me would stir
Even as I replayed the night we crumbled
The icy glaze in his previously kind eyes
I relived waking to a wall in his stead
The sickening ache in my heart that followed
And yet
I felt nothing close to a storm
Not even a ripple
I should have been reeling to assaulting flashbacks of his warmth and tenderness and tongue that I could never taste again
And I should have trembled with a paroxysm of fiery spite for all his wrongdoings that led us here
And I should have screamed
I should have screamed to drown out the nostalgia of his touch and his voice and the way the left corner of his mouth curled higher than his right when he smiled- or was it his right that curled higher?
I should have wanted to die in those fleeting minutes when I should have taken in, really taken in, that we were finished and there was nothing left but rubble after nearly three years of intimate looks and tangled skin
I should have had my one, really good cry
But instead I sat there, slumping on my bed
Staring off into stale air
Callous
Creased brows
Kind of numb
Thinking, "Any day now it'll come."
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