Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

45. London

TWO DAYS LATER

"Angel,"

"Yeah?" Turning my head, I lend Poppy my attention, but not my eyes as I fold my remaining sweaters.

"Are you packing this jewelry?"

Giving my full attention, I find Poppy circling her finger over my everyday rings and necklaces. "No, actually," I come across the room to slide on a bow ring. "I'm going to put these on now. Thanks." I head back to my sweaters.

"Angel," I hear Ella struggling from the closet. "What are you going to do with this big ass teddy bear?" 

If I didn't know any better, I would think the bear was walking itself; considering Ella's blocked from view as she carries the sentimental cub to the doorframe.

"Awwww! Where did that come from?"

"Uh–" As I waltz over to squeeze its nose, I buy myself some time to assemble another little white lie. "I bought it on Amazon." I glance over to Poppy to make sure someone acknowledges the fib since Ella's out of sight. "Thought she was cute."

"What's her name?" Ella's head pops out from the side.

"London." A soft smile appears on my lips as I pet the plush bear. "Can you keep her? Clearly, I can't take her on the plane, but I don't want to get rid of her."

"Sure. I'll hold on to her for you." 

Moving out of the way, Ella passes me to sit the cuddle-worthy toy in a chair.

There's no way I'm getting rid of that bear.

"Were we seriously here for six months?" Ella hangs over the back of the couch, ass in the air as I bring 3 glasses and a bottle of loosening wine. "Gimme! Gimme!" She flexes her hands, begging for intoxication. Satisfied, she flops down into the cushion, peering over her thin glass to Poppy's unamused glower. "You don't work with dead bodies all day. You read, bitch. The speech option and autocorrect could unemploy you." Ella takes a lengthy swallow as the two share a staredown.

Sure that Poppy can use her wine now more than ever, I hand her the tall nightcap. "Here you go, Pops."

"Thank you. Work has been hell." She admits as she settles into a pretzel. 

I find it hard to disagree, but I don't allow myself to be overwhelmed with my career. I have enough to wreck my brain about. Going over, I share the sofa with my big-mouthed, ex-roommate.

"6 more days and you'll be on a plane back to New York City." Poppy tips her glass, splashing her tongue with the fruity, white wine.

With the reminder, I take a swig from my glass, hoping to wash away any lingering doubt. If that's the case, I should have downed mine, Poppy's, Ella's and the whole bottle.

As I leave a thought in each bubble of my wine, I know each of their fate is to be swallowed down and suppressed for none to hear or see.

As I swirl the contents of my glass, I'm unable to comprehend the concept of time. When you're having the time of your life, why does time fly? When you're depressed and lonely, why does time drag? What is time? An illusion.

Am I truly six months older than I once was? What evidence do you have of that? What ages us? I feel 16 again. I feel weightless. What aged me? Is it the smile lines that I've acquired from the happiness I stopped believing in? Is it the priceless experience I've gained? With experience comes wisdom. We associate wisdom with old age. I've experienced so much and I feel younger, brighter, and more lively. Where did time go and why have I been punished for using it? Six months? All of my favorite moments can be compressed into two. This felt no longer than two months.