Ocean Of Need

❤️ 50 🖤 Mistake?

June 3rd Continued...

How long have I been laying in this empty room? Hours? Minutes? Long enough for my hips to ache against the wooden floor boards. Long enough for my heart to stop cantering and clattering around my body. But not long enough for it to stop aching. Will time ever be long enough for that?

I could stay here. Never get up again. But then, how would I find a way back to you? There has to be a way. Doesn't there? Or maybe you'll find your way back to me? If I just wait here long enough you might realise that I didn't mean it. That I was tricked. That it was a reaction to missing you too much, and for too long. That video was the pulling of the trigger on a pain I could no longer bare to hold.

I know you. Know the type of man you are deep inside your bones. If you believe that poem to be true you will never come back. Trust was everything to you. It was in every game we played. In every conversation we had.

Me submitting to you, wasn't about giving you my power, it was about giving you my trust, and you holding it. It was about surrendering to you, following you over everyone else.

I've broken your trust. I thought I was taking my power back. But what if you didn't want to take my power? What if you wanted to build me up? Maybe you just wanted to help me break the bonds that were keeping me chained to my past.

My past taught me to run. To believe that the only way I could survive was to cut off when I felt out of control.

I look around the bare walled room. We weren't even here long enough for the sunlight to bleach the walls around the frames of the paintings.

Empty. You've emptied me. I will never be full again.

My joints ache as I lift myself off the floor and do the only thing a British girl can do in the worst of times. I make a cup of tea.

The tea is not helping. The view of the ocean from my desk is not helping. The ocean is the most beautiful green of all the greens today, because it is the colour of your eyes. Sun sparkles on it. Small waves crest cocaine white, the lines of them gently breaking onto the shore. My tea grows cold.

My phone rings. Jameson, Freya, Roxy.

Not you.

I don't answer it.

It will never be you again.

You are gone.

You are gone.

You are gone.

Eventually they'll all give up.