It’s been seven hours and fifteen days, since you took your love away. That is not strictly true, it has been three thousand, eight hundred and sixty four hours.
Does that amount of time even register with you? Do you even care? It’s not like I even know where you are. You threw most of your stuff in the bin, nothing spectacular, just bits and pieces of a now previous life. I get the impression you thought me obsessive, wanting you every hour, every fifteen minutes, occasionally. I couldn’t get my breath from your heat, and my lungs ached from you and the coldness which had always been your friend, not mine, made me shiver, but you didn’t hold me.
I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant, I haven’t, but I have been the occasional visitor to the local pub. It’s lonely without you. I didn’t need anyone when you were there, I could just walk away. I’d disappear into a corner with you back in the day, later, last year we would find a quiet alley or a stand in a doorway, so close, my lips touching you and you, forever the passive recipient, letting me take my frustrations out on you, my fingers, agitated fingers that worked you until you were done.
I went to the doctor and guess what he told me? No, it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. No one wants to be told ‘you’re doing well’ when you are trying to unravel yourself from an addiction, because that’s what it is. I crave you, I want you. I remember how you felt and smelt and tasted. Memories, that’s the hardest part of a break up, everywhere I look, everywhere I go, you are tattooed on my eyeballs. It’s never going to get better. I can’t imagine being nostalgic in years to come when I think of our time together. I can’t imagine having grandchildren and recounting to them with a grin on my face how all those years ago I nearly lost my mind. Lost my mind over something that had me, had me like my neck were in a vice. My brain, no longer the dopamine addled receptor that you made it, it’s an arid, bland, sterile place now, a place I don’t belong. This wasn’t who I wanted to be.
I know that living with you baby was sometimes hard. We had fun though. You’ve been the longest love affair of my life, my first thought in the morning, my last at night. The time I devoted to us, some would call it unrequited love, the way you never shared how you felt, never caressed my lips, never stopped being your plain rigid, unresponsive self. When I look back, I know I shouldn’t have stuck around, but it’s so easy in hindsight to see when you got hooked on something or someone and I guess the fact we learn the lesson after the fact is the inconvenience of life.
I know it probably worked out well in the end and maybe I do breathe easier these days. The decisions made, the dye is cast and all that, and now just to move on.
Nothing Compares 2 U!
Forever Yours, Henrietta……
“Hang on, can I just interject here please? Yes, I am you, get your head around that.
Why are you pretending that they gave you up?
It’s been three thousand, eight hundred and sixty four hours (and however many minutes) since you gave up smoking.
What the hell is wrong with you anyway? Stringing people a good yarn. You’re a liar. I hate you.
And stop with the sex references. It’s really disturbing.
Put the kettle on and get me that slice of cake, we’re celebrating.
You’ve been part of the Cigarette Diaries
Keep up the good work and I am only kidding. A little…..