When you say goodbye to me - said goodbye to me. I didn't hear you. I didn't really consider the tangible loss of us. I was busy. Because in my mind I was hearing years worth of goodbyes, that run in a steady loop of vinyl to make the white noise soundtrack to my tears. I was busy listening.
You left me for a logical and reasonable reason. I'll never understand it. I'll never really process what your goodbye meant or how it was intended. It was lost on me. I was busy. Because in my mind I was listing all the reasons that I told myself you would eventually leave me over. It was the hummingbird heart of our relationship that behind what I would say, there was what I thought. Two very different things.
Underneath a less than gracious acceptance of you moving on, there are cracks so wide that the substance that the cracks are between becomes the cracks in the emptiness. My head is empty space with slithers of pain far and few between.
But on those cliff blades that make up the terrain of my emotional imbalance, that hostile environment where no love could ever find footing, on those cliffs someone has been writing. The cliffs are neurotic neuron-thin slices of hope with all the reasons why I shouldn't have hope, scrawled on the sides.
Unlovable. Damaged goods. Damaged. Broken. Dirty. Used. Lazy. Selfish. Crazy. Whore. Fool.
I go through the same motions I did the day before, and make myself sick with grief knowing that I will always be the Fool that believes that someone could navigate love over pre-burned bridges. I will always be that Fool that scews her eyes shut, counts to ten, and hope that the dead will rise. That the bad guys will go away. That if I hold my breath, eventually, it will hold itself.
In the meantime, me? Unholdable. I'll be holding my breath for the impossible; a love that forgives me for myself.