This Is Why He Will Never Meet You In The Middle

Marjorie Otero
Marjorie Otero

It all begins and you try to ignore what you already know. It reaches an intoxicating middle and you deny that the beginning wasn’t that long ago. It ends and it’s everything to you and nothing to him all at once.

You never know why you let yourself reach the middle. The middle is unreasonable – hopeful, maddening, dizzying with it’s rising waves that wash over you like the blood rushes your cheeks after the third glass of red wine he poured for you. In a matter of days you’re filled with a longing that hasn’t known a home in your bones since the last middle came crashing down years ago.

You know better, but you’re so stoned and living a reverie that carries you so high you can’t see the crash-down. He’s a constant reminder of sweeter times, times in which you don’t mind being exhausted because being tired meant he had made you that way. Days that begin and end with your bodies entwined in such a way that makes you forget he’s still brand new. Moments that feel passionate and real and raw and nothing like the heartbreak that fills your yesterdays.

The thing about the middle is that too often the middle is only yours.

He never meets you there.

He doesn’t care to see that every time he holds your face in his hands and presses his lips to yours it feels like the ground is shaking beneath your being and every time he says, β€œHi beautiful” it sounds like the only time you’ve ever heard someone speak to you with such a hunger that was only yours to hear.

He says all the prettiest words and dances with the power to make you so drunk you can’t stop the world from spinning. He dives head first into the beginning and quietly tiptoes through his middle, arriving at his end in one deafeningly silent night, leaving your middle exposed and yearning for closure. You didn’t see an end. Not even once.

But his end started somewhere at the apogee of your wistful, sweet middle. While you were lying next to him, inhaling his smell and letting yourself fall into a place of comfort you dared not to think of just weeks ago, he was already constructing his end. And when his end arrives, silent and harsh and without reason, he leaves you dancing, still waltzing through your middle in amorous ignorance. Leaving you bewildered, lost, and desperately seeking answers that you’ll never get.

Arriving at the end doesn’t come as easy for you. You can still smell him on the pillow on which he lay his head just yesterday. You close your eyes and can feel his lips against yours, the same earth shattering eruptions exploding through your soul just like it was when he was new. You can still hear all the pretty things he told you to when you thought he was meeting you in the middle.

But you were never his middle. You were a means to his end. But you, you beautiful creature with your hopeful dreams and patchwork heart.

Oh you. You will begin again. TC mark

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