Nothing hurt her; neither the stones so callously strewn across her path, nor the sharp grass blades, the shards of glass or the heavy rain drops. She did not squint even as the dust that was violently swept by the wind hit her eyes. The grass she walked on parted into a trail, as if each blade was sure she would walk back the same way. The wind blew her curly hair & the rain drenched it further. Her semi-transparent t-shit clung to her curves exposing her frail, balmy yet symmetrical body structure.
Clouds of opposite electric charges clamoured against each other, the heavens tearing apart with a brilliant streak of light. Thunder resonated in her heart. She walked on.
Stray drops of rain trickled down her neck, her collar bone glistening. The darkness felt familiar. It threatened to rip her soul apart and consume every pore, dissolve every broken fragment & she let it because she’d rather be empty than hurt all the time. The droplets scraped off the clots over her wounds, exposing them to vacuum. She found beauty in breaking down & in that moment of emotional escalation, she saw his face, just before breaking down. She doubled over in pain, her arms wrapped around herself tight; as if she was holding the remnants within her, preserving what was left of her, her essentials; the fragments she needed to stay alive, to just keep breathing.
Pain was all she ever felt. Pain of loss. Of hurting people around her. Of distancing herself from the everyone. From him, whom she should have forgiven. Pain was what stopped her from loving him, making him her’s: wholly. The distance she could handle, but not the pain she knew she would eventually cause him. Why couldn’t he understand how much she wanted him but had to walk away because she had nothing to give except pain. Her rains, her darkness, her pain, her scars, her anguish, her rage and her broken, jagged, rough and hurtful pieces were hers. Where hope had once filled her eyes, emptiness now made its home.
“I’m miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
I, I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms”
When the clenching in her stomach eased, she lay down on the grass, dark skies now cradling her surrender; inviting her to become one of them. The raindrops now fell through her as thoughts of what could have been perforated her, creating small openings through which the pieces now ground finely poured out. She didn’t feel a thing. Nothing at all. She shut her eyes and lay there for the longest time; knowing deep inside that this was the last time, that this was it for her. She let her thoughts free and they expectedly wandered to him; his face, his voice, his form, his hands, her hands in his, the days and the nights, the way his breath on her neck cradled her to sleep, the way his fingertips left burn trails on her legs, the way his lips narrated love stories to her back, the way his warm kisses ignited her with a fiery passion, the way fell apart in his arms, the way the distance grew from that day onwards, the way his foot steps sounded mixed with her muffled cries as he walked away.
Thoughts of him didn’t make her cry. They neither hurt her, nor shred her to pieces or make her smile. She did not find his familiarity warm nor did she feel cold and dark.
She got up, went to her bedroom, lay down on the balcony floor; all lights out and lit her joint. She didn’t feel thing. She lay amidst ruins; in ruins. She was hollow; hollow with his longing.
[Tuned into: Set the fire to the third bar: Snow Patrol.]