Trigger Warning: Modest gore, a breakup, and loads of the (beautiful) human angst
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Eleven forty-five P.M. 11:45pm. Quarter to midnight.
That is the time now as I begin writing this. These are the last words you’ll ever hear from me, the last emotional outburst. Know that this was made with a heavy hand and heart, and signed at the bottom is my name, a name you once cherished and now will fade in your head, like yours would in mine, with the passage of time.
So hey, Jane Dorothy. You know who it is, whether it’s from the general chicken scratch or my looped E’s that you were always strangely fond of. I wanted to tell you this in person, but we both know that’s impossible now. But no point for our broken hearts to mull over the details again, like cold antiseptic over the wound, right?
Your sudden leave has given me the time and space to think. And I found it. I found it. I found the coveted solitude you had punctuated your latest sentences with, “we should have time apart”, “let’s work it on our own first”, and “just a small break” — but in it, I found also your absence. It was, and still is, painful.
Remember that you were the one who gave me the ultimatum. Then I remembered making a promise to myself. Before I lost all parts of me, I knew I would want out. Because I still have love to give others, inspirations and experiences, some that I picked up on this journey with you. But this summer I’ll be Jeanne d’Arc — I'll cut off all my hair, and I’ll gladly burn for what I believe in. No longer just for you. For myself.
Curtain call. So, here it is. The afterthought to my decision, I would call it. Poetic enough?
I’d really be, despite everything, glad if you read through this.
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Back to the first day, so many months ago, when all of it was laid to sow. Your matching headband and shirt—all star-spangled—the deciding moment in time when I became so dangerously tangled. What a dream maker, eyes taker, heartbreaker you were. All in one bomb.
Because the moment pupil met pupil, hazel on brown, I knew I was in love with you. All but put out, no, you had me turned inside out. You ruled my kingdom, and deserved the crown. Alongside me, we could rule this world.
All of that went through my head as I kissed the girl. The tingling of our lips and the heat of the room:
All escalated as I kissed you.
My head went ecstatic, and my breath, sporadic. I did not want to panic, I wanted for it to go exactly as I planned it. It all happened so fast and so soon. I fell, fell, fell . . . hook, line and sinker. I knew it was too good to be true, that when you had dropped me, I should have dropped you.
Instead, I decided to follow the five-second rule.
You and I exchanged our thoughts at the parking lot theater, surrounded by other cars, the glistening night sky, a blanket of mostly void and partially stars. You were the only thing that brought promise to my life. Who said you needed an umbrella when it rained? I could walk through it just fine, it would not cause me any pain. That’s what I said then; I should have regretted that thought.
Now, everything is flood. I’m soaked in the rain, trapped in this storm, in a self-sustaining deluge! I should have let you go when you were already gone. I would stay planted beside you for decades, but you would only stay for five seconds. I wanted unconditional love between us and more, but you could only keep score. Like a blade you were:
A sharp, piercing weapon.
No. I couldn’t let you go that easily, though. Our bond was strong and tight, not weak and measly. Or was that just what I had thought so naively? It’s a tragic shame how this became, oh so insignificantly, just your game. How you would rush out of my life; without any simple hesitation. No consideration, not even a grace period for cessation.
A packed restaurant, and a couple late for their reservation. Twenty minutes, late by traffic, but five seconds to get there. What a disastrous night for a beautiful, lovely pair.
I will walk through the park, one last time again. With or without you. We will talk about this again, even if you don’t want to. Retell it to ourselves, without shortcuts or the aid of feverfew. We’ll replay the exhausting verbal dances with the power of hind view.
Jane Dorothy, in my head you always walked through the park with me. You rode carriages while admiring the beautiful scenery. It was such a beautiful and prepped vision, indeed, yet only a mere pipe dream. I wanted to do all that I envisioned with you, I really did:
But it’s time I leave that behind and drop the five-second rule.
You see, five seconds “clean” is a millisecond dirty—who is to say that those wheels on the carriages were even sturdy? For you my heart glowed, but you saw it as a dead load. Your different demeanor, gaslighting gimmicks and paroxysms of awkward anger; I swallowed it all, my words, for the sake of yours, but it came down like broken glass. My cut throat, cherry bathed lips, blood on your hands, these words I wrote.
Didn’t you know words could hurt? I would have asked you, but as I choke and gasp for air, we both know you would have done bugger all but gloat.
But Jane, you can continue being the ruse and I, the caper. You can derail, and I’ll tread the high road ahead; because I damn well know you would read only five seconds of this—
—then simply rip it up to shreds.
Could’ve burned this out instead,