Not Great

If I’m honest, I’m not doing great without you.

The worst part is, your presence isn’t the part I miss. I miss winding you up, like a child’s toy vibrating with anticipation before the release. And in turn you would litter me with half-drunk half-caffeinated promises I always believed you’d keep–every time. You kept them when you felt like it–vows of convenience. But mostly I was alone in the stuffy bedroom staring at my open skin and willing it to rot, until you came home at 4am with boys and slurs in your mouth.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. I hope it will for you, because smothering you was something I never meant to do to you. In trying not to hurt you, in desperately clawing at your ever-wandering body I drove you away. Now perhaps you’ll have time to breathe and realize all I ever tried to do was love you. I just did it wrong by the end. Badly. Crookedly. 

But for me. For me, for me, absence makes the heart grow stronger. Being blinded, separated by walls of miles from your big Ireland eyes I remember myself again. I’m restarting my heart. The monitor goes beep, beep, beep in rhythmic time. When I see you again it will flutter, with anxiety for your mistakes you make in spite of me (in front of me, Ireland-eyes glowing), with affection for a personality that’s only sometimes there to cradle me at night. But for now, I am me. No, not me-without-you, not missing-an-appendage. Me, within myself. I patch up my open skin and face my newly open life with uncertainty, but with the driving force of myself. Like Bad Wolf “I create myself.” Beep. Beep. Beep. 

I’m not doing great without you. 

But I’m okay. 

And that’s enough.


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