My tea tasted stale this morning.
Almost tepid, even when I had added in enough sugar to satisfy the thirst of the construction workers fixing our house. Today, of all days, I ruminate on the event that passed last night and all nights that man-children have drove trucks right through my heart.
Today, I have called a friend whose slender arms I snuggled in the past year and went no contact. I have cried and cried and cried some more over the phone, and she has soothed me not how I wanted to be soothed but in the way she knows best.
Today, I ate my tears for lunch because I got dumped by my ex twice.
No, I do not believe in drama, but I believed in the love we had—or perhaps, I thought we did. I have accepted this hurt and called it my own. There is no salve for my bereaved heart, broken not in two but into a million pieces.
When I want to forget about him, I remember him more. When I try to shovel my hurt to clear the driveway of my life, I remember the letter he wrote me on a torn page of his notebook with his blue Parker ink, which had one error in the third paragraph and he had scratched the word this to the. He had called me “love” in the letter he wrote me and wrote that he would never let me go. But after the letter was received, he dumped me twice, and I hark on how loose his words were despite the deep ink.
The on and off of a relationship benumbs you to any extant adage that simply exists to protect your heart. And I understand now that with the constant rechecking I do and reassurance I crave, I had to be twice bitten to be thrice shy. Sit down with myself and come to terms with how much I got played off, simply because I chose to consider someone’s fickle heart that went hot and cold each time that I put the honesty of my feelings on a platter before him. So that he could understand my emotional needs, not so that he could complete my life or be my parent. And it is when you get told off for draining the person while you only want your needs met, you slowly accept the inevitable fate that lies before you.
It rings true and it rings loud and clearer than any sound you have heard. The crystal ringing of the man you loved and took in the second time, breaking off things by leaving your phone unanswered.
You fall back on your pillow and think to yourself, “Oh at least I am at peace” in the morning. You doubt yourself in the noon and as the sun goes down you are an emotional wreck who is tempted to pour a drink or two because you are home alone and you can.
No text message, no email, because this time you chose to honour your emotional needs and refused to do the emotional labour for the both of you.