You are out at a bar. You make a joke about a girl. I want to throw up and I have not been drinking.
There are so many tomorrows you haven’t had yet. It’s an end to something you haven’t even had a real chance to start. This is the hardest thing to let go of: the thing you never really had.
You will feel it all at once. When lips betray ego, inner running monologue finally silenced with all this heaviness.
I didn’t want to keep our moments alive any longer. I just wanted the hurt to stop. It almost worked, until I received a phone call two months ago.
I don’t know where you are or who you are or what you do for fun or who your friends are. And I’m okay with that. I am finally okay with that.
My roommates were finally like, “We’re glad you’ve stopped playing ‘Landslide’ in the dark, but dude, you’re kinda scaring us.”
If you suspect that your significant other is cheating, they probably are. So heed these warnings.
Life moves on, and so should you.
Time is a funny thing.
I’ve never been a smoker, but it reminds me of his fingers when they touched my face, the way my hair absorbed the ambient nicotine of Brooklyn rooftops and stayed with me for days. It’s a physical conduit to the things I no longer have, but it reminds me that they were real.