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"How sweet the waters flowed over the ocean of her eyes..."
I thought to myself as she walked away crying. I watched her leave it hurt a hundred times worse than if she had ran away. To know that I was the main cause for the demise of something beautiful. I dragged myself to my bed I just wanted to sleep. To forget what an "Asshole" I can be. I laid half dreaming- half wishing that she'd walk back in and tell me that it was all a mistake and that she loved me. I tried to fall asleep but to no avail. I was a half-awake mind in a weakened corpse of a body. My life had become so utterly sad, filled with an undying numbness. My heart felt lost and I didn't know where to look for it. I thought back to time when we were in love, and I was moved to tears. She looked at me as we sat on a blanket in a park "If you ever feel sad, just remember no matter how far we apart you can always listen to the music." A little confused I asked "What music?" She reach her lovely arm out and touched my chest and sweetly whispered "The music in your heart, the music of the human soul, a melodious and undying tone the sings of our love." She was so poetic. So much more than I...

So here I am sad beyond compare. The music has since faded out like so many other things that I cherished. It rarely hurts to fall in love, but falling out of love is one of the most painful plunges to be experienced. To fall in love, then fall out. To fall for her, then fall alone. To fall into sorrow then fall into more. I turned and stared at the empty space in our bed; tear drops clouding the view of the pillow. I grabbed it through the haze and pulled it close, drowning myself in her smell. "Please can't you come back to me!!!?” I spoke into the pillow.

I walked over to the freezer and pulled out a bottle I had been saving for such an occasion. I turned the cap, and then turned the bottle up. I seemed to relapse into that state when the agitation became too great inside of me. I couldn’t help but throw myself on the mercy of the quart. The bottle was as quickly drained as I was. “If it's love why does it have to hurt?" I questioned the empty bottle. I sat on the couch letting the thoughts of her wash around inside. Soon the effects of the alcohol were too great and I began to feel nauseous. I stumbled into the bathroom prepared to purge my system of the toxins swimming inside of me. I made it as far as the mirror and a wave of grief and gloom swept throughout my body. Evidence of her presence littered the entire bathroom. I picked up my hair brush it had more of her hair than my own; she often forgot her own brush at home when she spent the night. She had her own toothbrush in a stainless steel toothbrush holder. Hers was a blue and white crest toothbrush; mine was a red and white one. She had her own bottles of Pantene Pro V shampoo and Pantene Pro V conditioner. We used the same shampoo and conditioner but she wanted her own there so she left it. I leaned forward and studied my face while I searched for answers inside myself. “Look at me I’m a nervous wreck!” I said to the mirror.  I started to make my way to the tub and tripped; even in my inebriated state I caught myself on the tub, saving myself from serious injury. I climbed up and grabbed one of the bottles and started to walk out of the bathroom with it. I turned it and threw it as hard as I could at the tub. The top broke off and shampoo covered the side of the bathtub and the floor. I turned off the light and closed the door. I dragged myself to the bed, my head was spinning. When I laid down in the bed, it felt like I was on one of those spinning carnival rides. I closed my eyes and forced my way through all the ill feelings, both those provided by a bottle and those manufactured by my own body.

I awoke with a killer hangover. I heard the rain beating down on the window. “When did it start raining? Oh what does it matter I’m awake but half dreaming, the rain pours outside. I’m awake but half dead, the rain pours inside..." I yelled to no one and everyone at the same time. I know it can't rain all the time, but that knowledge does nothing to alleviate the pain I felt at that moment, or to ease the flow of tears. She walked out of my life the night before and I could do nothing to stop her, she made up her mind a long time before she told me. She told me that much. It would be months before I saw her again. It would be at a party my friend was having. I tried to stay in contact with her by the phone, but I only seemed to make her angrier with my insensitive words. Though I tried to be good, my words seemed to come out wrong. Those were the most difficult months of my life. They were a “Mourning Period” as such. I learned a lot about myself and learned that I caused the things I cherished the most to crumble. No matter how much my dying soul pleaded with my mind and heart to be a good person. No matter how good my intentions were only an overbearing amount of tragedy seemed to flow around most if not all of my actions. I just wanted to love and be loved. Why was that such a difficult thing to ascertain? The moment she walked out that door, everything else that was good in my life began to fall around me. My friends talked to me less. My work began to suffer. My poetry was all but non-existent. The thought of her stalked me every where I went; even my dreams. I wished many times that I could bury those dreams. All the good things she ever said clouded my feeble mind. One statement rang louder than any church bell. “You sustained me when my heart felt like it was going to wither.” How can someone that restored a dying heart be left so easily? How can one incident change all that we had? Those questions did no good to ask, for no answer existed. It isn’t the dumpee’s place to ask “Why are you dumping me?” It’s not like the Dumper will change their mind.

We met at her job, she worked at Barnes & Noble, and she worked at the Starbucks inside. I went in for my usual Grande Mocha Frappachinno with two shots of hazelnut and a shot of vanilla. I was also buying a gift for my friend a copy of my favorite book “David Copperfield” by Charles Dickens. I already owned a dog-eared paperback version and a collector’s edition hardback from Easton Press. I thought about buying another version from Easton Press, but I wanted my friend to be able to read the book, not stare at it on the shelf. I grabbed a paperback version of the book and made my way over to Starbucks. There she was a gorgeous angel of a girl. Stunning blue-green eyes, shoulder length red hair; a living reflection of a dream. The recipient of the book once told me “She looks a little like the pink ranger!” I placed my order and talked with her for almost an hour while she worked. I asked for her phone number and she gladly gave it. I called her the next day and we made a date that night to go the local Japanese steakhouse. We had a blast; within ten days we were an official couple.  

So that’s where we began. This is where we ended. I fucked up! Pretty simple huh?

So months went by and we were at a party. Neither of us knew that the other would have been there. If she had known she probably wouldn’t have come. She got smashed beyond belief. She was more drunk than I was the night I had drown my pain into the bottle. She started to throw up. I could have gone about with the party like one of my friends suggested. But I stayed with her, holding her hair back as she paid homage to the porcelain god. After a little more than an hour of throwing up, she was sweating and exhausted. She closed her eyes. I wrapped my arms around her and picked her up. Walking out of the restroom, my friend gave up his bed for her. Not because of her, he did it because he knew that’s what I would ask if I could have asked such a thing to a friend. I laid her on his bed and covered her up and fell asleep on the other side of the bed. About six hours later something awoke me. I slowly opened my eyes; she was playing with my hair. “Thank You.” She said. I didn’t say anything. She leaned forward and kissed me once on the lips and got out of the bed and walked out.

Here she was walking out of my life yet again. “Get up! Stop her!” My mind screamed, but I said nothing. Made no move, she walked out. If I were asked why didn’t you say anything? I’d have no answer. If I had the whole situation to do over: I would have jumped up and stopped her at the door. “Wait I have to tell you something.”  Her immediate response would have been “What?” “I still love you. I never meant to make you cry. I am so sorry.” I would have said. Which would her to say one of two things: Either “I love you too! It's OK it's water under the bridge.” This means I would have been an utter fool for not grasping an opportunity at happiness. Or she’d say “It’s over. It’s been over for a very, very long time. Move on. And about your apology it will always be too little, too late!” Then she would have walked out. I suppose I was afraid to say anything. Perhaps my mind was moving on, even though my heart was still dragging a little behind. That was the last time I saw her. Perhaps I will see her in the future. Perhaps I won't... Who knows?
A story about the loss of love and the attempts made by one man to regain what was lost...
:iconrainywolf:
Rainywolf Featured By Owner Oct 18, 2004
T_T that put a lump in my throat. Beautifully written, and so very sad. *hug*
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October 15, 2004
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