This indifference I’m feeling is one thing the rain in Los Angeles can’t wash away. The silent nature of my expressions seem as empty as the bottles in my room. No matter how many ounces of social skills I consume, I feel nothing, as if a crucial part of me had died along with sunflower that I gave to her at sunset on Sunset Blvd. It sits withered in a celebratory bottle of chardonnay we shared. My blankets and pillows still smell of her and I’ve refused to sleep in them since she left me. I didn’t want to ruin the fragrance of love as it was the only thing her smell reminded me of. She left me towels that once graced her flesh, yet i can somehow feel the tears she hid in them as well.
They say I; “deserve better,” or “she was the wrong girl,” or “there’s plenty of fish in the sea,” or “if she loved you, she wouldn’t have done that to you.” I’ve never understood that these particular combinations of words were meant to make the another person feel better. They seem like conditioned rambles you spout to one another, and would just as quick disavow them when you go through the same thing. I know they mean well, but unfortunately, i’m too smart to fall for well wishes.
I believe I’m currently in a state of shock that justifies my indifference, but I know that once I realize what has actually happened to me, the emotions are going to strike like a barrage of raindrops, tears included. I hope that never happens, i really do. I’m foolishly trying to believe in her calling my name so i can throw open my arms for her. I know she’s been unfair, but my arms would unconditionally open up and saran wrap and suffocate her anyway. i had an epiphany that allowed me to love her no matter how heinous her actions were, i was becoming content with my misery, which is a form of happiness.
I can’t help but wonder that if only I had a few more hours, I could have shared an epiphany with her. By the time I got home from work, she had already gone. She even cleverly took my cellular phone charger, so I would not be able to charge my phone to call her incessantly. which I didn’t anyway, partly because you don’t feel like talking to anyone when your fiance packs all her things to disappear. The only part that was most painful, was the man she left more for, gloating and waving my mother’s engagement ring in his hand. It may or may not have meant much to her, but it meant the world to my unmarried mother. who had been engaged for twenty years. She gave me her engagement ring along with her blessing to take to her. I know i should get the ring back, but the only thing i would do is hang it next to the aesthetic and pointlessly sentimental ring that’s hung around my neck for the entire time I was able to feel. I don’t mind her keeping the ring as a reminder of the unconditional love that would’ve put up with her shenanigans, but even that seems more pointless.
All these people drinking lover’s spit, sitting around cleaning their faces with it.