A Heartbreak

The night was cold.

She didn’t have to open her window to know this. Looking at the fogged up glass did the trick. Her insomnia is once again by her side, refusing to let her go, and she, her loyal companion is accepting her fully, not even bothering to put up a fight to chase her away.

The moon is on the sky, casting a silver light on the dark neighborhood, and she stared at it as she rummaged through the options of activities she can do at this time in the night to pass the time. Read? Study? Staring at the wall or outside her window? Sneak a smoke, and hope the smell goes away before her parents wake up? The options were endless, but tonight they seemed boring and really unappealing.

The decision seemed to have made itself when she continued to stare outside of her window, not moving to pick up the hidden pack on her dresser or her new collection Edgar Allan Poe short stories she picked up this afternoon. She brought her knees to her chest and placed her head on top of them, taking this time to reflect. Now in the comfort of her room and in the silence of the night, maybe just maybe she could understand. Maybe she could admit to herself her own feelings, lock them away from their little box in her mind, only for a minute, and then back in they would go. She breathed out once and picked her head back up, her reflection greeting her in the glass. And she stared back, not moving.

It had been months, since her breakup and things haven’t been easy since. She could lie to herself all day, but as soon as nightfall came, she couldn’t hide even if her life depended on it. Had you asked her friends, they would have replied that they were really in awe at how well she took the end of her relationship, considering the length of it (3 years) and how it ended (who knows, the reason was never made known, not even to her). But the truth was, she wasn’t over it. And she hated herself for it. She tried to come up with things that were more worthy to be sad about. But that only created a pile of things to be sad about. She struggled every night to keep her phone out of her reach, for fear that she would send an embarrassing text. She was afraid of even looking towards her phone at this time of the night, because a stupid feeling of hope every time it vibrated with a notification would warm up her chest, as she would sprint towards the device, only to be let down massively. She realistically had nothing to hope for when it came to him. And it angered her that her logic was not enough to stop the emotion.

But hope was everywhere and she was exhausted of the massive crash that always followed after.

A knock on the shoulder at the library, turning out to be the librarian letting her know she had to return the books she checked out two weeks ago, would leave her shaking her head at her own foolishness. A buzz of her phone at any time of the day would have her shaking in anticipation, and when the notification of a social media app with something insignificant would appear, it made her so mad at herself, she wanted to lock herself at a room with mirrors and just give herself a lecture on how much of an absolute, hopeless and truly pathetic idiot she was being and how she needs to cut it out because seriously this was getting sad.

She glanced at the clock and closed her eyes when she realized exactly how much tiredness she was in when the sun greeted her in the morning, along with the annoying sound of her ridiculously loud alarm. If she tried to sleep now, she could sneak in a good three hours of sleep. She would take what she could get. As she stood up to turn the blinds off, she stared at herself some more, urging herself to find the mental strength to move on, and to find the extra mental strength to continue keeping up with the appearance that she was fine. That she was over it. That she was not struggling. She could do it, or at least that is what she fooled herself with for the time being. Pain does not last forever, her logic offered as a consolation and she agreed. She just wished that the healing process was not this hard and so slow. It reminded her of moving through a current. She decided that that was the metaphor she was going to use to describe tonight, because every night was different.

Tonight she felt like she was running through a powerful current. The water was rushing and pushing her back but her stubborn strides kept her moving. She had to reach the shore, even if her pessimistic said kept telling her that if there was a shore she would be able to see it by now. She had to ignore the advice that side of herself would offer, because it was always the same. Just give up trying to fight it, there is no winning this fight. But just because she could not yet see the shore that did not mean the shore did not exist. So, she would push through the water, even if it was freezing and her knees hated her for having put them through this icy hell.

She felt satisfied with herself for thinking of that, and she gave herself at least some points for creativity, as she rose from her spot, her insomnia beginning to say her goodbyes, for tonight at least.

He doesn’t love me. She remembered as her hand pulled down her blinds. Turning towards her bed, she laid on it and closed her eyes, shutting out even the beauty of the silver moonlight that was barely coming in through the now shut blinds.

Whatever, I don’t care anymore she lied once more.

I will get through this. The last piece of honesty echoed through the palace of her mind.