On Wednesday at two AM he came to my apartment.
Do you know what that feels like? The one you thought would be forever tapping on your window in the middle of the night telling you he misses you?
It does not feel as good as you would think. It feels raw and intrusive and surreal. It feels like you’re naked wrapped in a white sheet. It feels like he’s asking you how “the fuck” you moved this huge couch in your studio and unassembled a table that took him hours to set up-he does not really want an answer, obviously you didn’t do this on your own. It feels like he has to stay over because he is drunk and it would kill you if he left and didn’t make it home safely. It feels like his lips are on you but a few months have passed and they are not the lips you’ve grown use to-this will catch you wholly off guard; you will feel a mixture of sadness and guilt and confusion. In the morning, you will drink three glasses of cheap champagne and you will cry, hard. You will have snot rolling down your face and tears so salty your eyes swell. You will tell him he makes you someone you hate. You will tell him you miss him. He will tell you you need to “harness” your emotions better. You might throw a glass, you might just think about it. You will definitely, accidently, break your small statue of the virgin mary and child, this will make you cry later as you put the broken pieces back together. It will look perfectly fine but if you touch it it will break to a million pieces again. You will think this is symbolic-it really probably is not. He will walk away, again. You will be so disappointed in yourself it makes you feel physically ill.
You will call your father and leave out details of lips and the other person but you will tell him the gist, as you cry that loud, messy, wet cry that is reserved for champagne on an empty stomach before noon with an ex who showed up in the middle of the night. Your father will say, “How many brunches are you going to let him ruin?” And you will laugh because “brunch” sounds like something you can’t afford, like sunflower centerpieces, and eggs benedict and whatever the fuck that was seemed like the antithesis of that.
You will feel sick for hours after, wondering why you opened the door, naked in a sheet. You will drive two hours, maybe more, to see the one whose lips you have grown use to. You will get drunk, again. You will try too hard to be sexy, you will be too drunk to be even remotely. You will feel strongly but you will not be sure where the strong feelings are coming from. You will kiss him like it will fix everything. You will wake up in the morning and for a few seconds you will be completely unsure who (which) you are next to, this will upset you when you become conscious of the room around you. You will project too much emotion, it will be awkward. You will leave, he won’t walk you out.
He’ll text you and call you, the one from the middle of the night, the other will ignore you. (who care’s?) He’ll tell you he forgot something. You’ll tell him you’ll leave a key, he says you’ll have to be there, what he forgot is “intangible and not material.”
You’ll play dumb like he left a shirt and tell him you’ll let him know when you’re back in town.
You’ll wonder why people have to forget you to remember you, and then you’ll feel more alone then you’ve ever felt before in your entire life.
