Vindiction

As the lampshade hits the floor, it’s over. The final scream is that of the bulb. There will be no going back. No Sunday drives, no trip in December, no more of this shit.

The road is slick. Hurrying home, because that will make a difference? The car slides. It’s hard to hear the squeal over the radio. Money well spent.

The blemish on my neck should be gone by morning. No one will notice.

Confess? It won’t help. Not sure how much longer this can go on.

It hasn’t ended yet. Who is to say that it is wrong?

Conversation is fine. Sex is dull. Effort is abundant, but my passion has gone. Going through the motions seems the only way there is to live. Sometimes I don’t even know I am faking it.

Why is it that now I feel? So many nights, so many lies, and now is when it all becomes real. The decisions I have made, the truths twisted. Manipulation is my love. Why? I am not vindictive.

I have forgiven the past, or least I say I have. This garbage is full. Someone else will empty it. Fuck, waiting is the worst part. Sitting here I re-read old emails. Again?! Here?! I can’t let anyone see. I should delete it, but then it will be gone. Lost.

I feel it moving, across my body. Where will it stop? When will it end? Something so familiar, from a stranger, how can it be? Will you set me free? Rescue me.

Running helps, I guess. If I can’t feel good, at least I can try and look it.

I remember the first time we kissed in public. I was being unreasonable and realized it. If I made it better then, how do I now?

It must be too late. Do I turn around? Sleep in the car. That won’t help. I have to pretend, for him. I have to. Too much effort has been put in. He won’t understand but doesn’t have to. I am the one who has to live with it.

I was right, he doesn’t understand. If he did this would be easy. I shouldn’t care, but I do. I do so much that it becomes obvious to me, if not to everyone else. Maybe I can make him angry? Make him hate me. If I am this good at making him love me, it should be no problem.

I know it hurts. I am sorry. You do not deserve this. You deserve so much better than me. I know you don’t care that I think this. But believe me when I say, its one of the very few things I am sure of. You can do better than me.

He begs me to stay. I can’t its late. I need to leave if I truly believe what I say. Now is the time.

Each step I take my mind races. This isn’t supposed to hurt like this. Why is it when I make the right decision, it feels so wrong?

I hear him, he doesn’t understand. He is angry. I didn’t close the door as I left. I couldn’t. He was standing right there.

I can’t end this. I turn around to come back as the door slams. It frightens me, I try to scream, but the noise of glass over powers it.

I miss him already.

-Graham Balon