TWO MONTHS POST BREAKUP
I hope your ribcage aches and your lungs feel like raisins. Oh how I wish the tables would have turned and I was the one to have broken your heart. I wish I would've left you out in the pollen-lined May air, simply a week before your 15th birthday. I wish you would've felt like you were being held underwater and not being allowed to come up for air for hours. I hope you realize how lonely you are when it's 4 p.m on a Sunday afternoon and your mother just baked you a fresh batch of cookies and there's sunlight hitting the windows at just the right angle to warm your skin and you're laughing at your mom's jokes and smiling until suddenly there is a hole in your chest because the chocolate chips are the same color as my eyes. I had to go through that, so why couldn't you? You would only feel that hurt because once before you felt so deeply, euphorically happy. So madly in love. You can go to a doctor for a broken bone or a cold or a scrape. You can see a psychiatrist for your everyday problems and mishaps. You can call a plumber or an electrician or a mechanic for your broken household items. But you cannot do anything for your heart.
And while I wish I would've left you stranded with nothing but a broken heart, thousands of sweet nothings and memories of me that haunt you everywhere you go. I would've left us drift apart until we finally become strangers once again. Then resume the love story we once had going on. The pain that you would cause yourself to take me back would give me all the satisfaction I would ever need in the world. I am a bitter person with a twisted mind, and you made me so.
YOU ARE READING
Late Night Thoughts
Short StoryA collection of things I wish I could've done differently expressed through conversations spent with fellow friend, Jack.
