Here's your closure...

These folds on my heart unwind because here comes the time to say cheerio. And I am, as unprepared as the poets predict. I hope that you will forgive yourself for what you have done to me, for I can’t find the strength to do it myself. At least not yet, not today and I think that not for the days to come.

But how it seems so easy for you to walk away and not glance back. Nothing to lose you say, but was I ever… something? Anything?

For if I was, you wouldn’t sleep so well at night, and not on the silk I bought under the promise of a castle. If I was, then maybe you would look over your shoulder, even for a moment. Perhaps you would remember that you said so shamelessly that you had never been tempestuously loved and that without me, there would be no you. That the infinitesimal bit I pour onto your cup, you would remain beholden, that your soul would be locked in a chamber, one that I crafted with my bare hands.

Even as my knees buckle, I hope that someday you will regret it. And not to regret me, but the things you did, the sins that you collect and haul behind your back. You think the world will not see, you think it cannot see how it sags your shoulders and hunches your back. But I leave you to the will of the gods, for what I cannot do on my own shall be done for me.

To start again and pick up from where we left, to think of somebody else in the castle you promised me. It is dreadful, and the melancholy eats me for days, it will consume me, I know, but this is the price to pay. They say it hurts less as time goes by but why does the sadness feel eternal? I crawl up my bed, tear all the pages that spell your name and I think that to forget is pain. I would never get over it, I muse. I will never let go…

But the most daunting part is having to move on with the little things. Getting out of bed, brushing my teeth, tracing my hollow smile on the mirror. It’s my old neighbor asking about you, and hoping to invite us for dinner sometime. My eyes water at the thought as your name is stuck in my throat. And I think, amidst the gale of emotions, that this is it, that this is the beginning of forgetting. So, I cower back to the solace of my home, ashamed to tell the world that I was deceived.

As the days go by, I find myself hiding from the rain and the sun. Cooking feels futile without someone to share. The garbage piles and the coffee sticks have been replaced ten times a day. The only solace I find is in the taste of wine, somehow unchanged or perhaps even richer. I promised you I wouldn’t do it again but now that you're gone and you broke your own, I say, ‘Touché’.

The days turn to nights and I realize that there are no more pictures on the wall. The show I liked still goes on and a plot twist, the villain got the girl. Now I can find my voice, the memories are no longer moist. My face brightens at the prospect of a beginning. My tea is flavorful and I think, it wasn’t that bad of a try. I numb the pain with art, letting it consume me before sinking back into the shadows you left behind.

It all feels the same but at the same time as foreign as it can get. Your memory is lost with all the other things I once thought were hard to let go of. Now I like the sound of my voice, I like the color of my skin. I eat kale because I can. The pain just seems to fade away, and I realize under the midday sun, that indeed, I have forgotten.

When I’m invited to dinner this time, I say that I would be alone. Their knowing smiles suggest they anticipated your absence. Life has become a vibrant canvas; I discern the nuances between yellow and green, red and amber. It strikes me, that it's been ages since I thought about you, and that realization changes everything.

I look down at my phone and stare at the text. On the screen stares a strange number.  The message displayed echoes sentiments I longed to hear months ago. But there’s more beyond the surface. This is your way back.

You write. “Here’s your closure….”