I’ve been sitting in this café for a little over an hour now. I hate waiting and you know it. You love to keep me waiting and I know that.
I don’t know why I’m here and I can’t really figure out what gave me the courage to dress up for this. I’m wearing your least favourite colour. Its been four years but I still remember the look of disdain you’d conjure up every time I wore black. You’d put on the most foul expression you could and stomp out of the room if you saw my wardrobe now. And yet, here I am, wearing the most modest clothing I own. “I love your skin”, you’d say, “I feel like my fingers would stain it’s silkiness but all I can think about is how you’d like with my colours on you.”
Why am I here? I shouldn’t be here.
16th October, 2011.
I know I live in a dichromatic world. I just don’t see the point of settling. I can’t feign, you know I can’t. But today? I put on a show. I wore a smile and picked myself up. I knew you were staring as I walked past you, I could feel your eyes bore into my back. I don’t know if you could see my hands tremble or if you heard my voice shake. But I know made it evident that you and I were done. It was downright hideous, what you did. I felt naked to the world, like a deformed showpiece on display. And as I lay in bed, I know I’ll fall asleep with an incorrigible ache.
11 August, 2015.
I didn’t want to open the message. I didn’t want to read what you had to say after three years of radio silence. But I did. I gave in. In two seconds of weakness, years of strength wavered. You’re in town. You want to see me. You want to talk. You want to meet me at the little place around the corner. You want to catch up.
And I said yes.
Oh what a fool I’ve been. But I’ll be there. I’ll watch you stride in with your hair pushed back and your sleeves rolled up, I’ll look you in the eye when you try to win me over again. I won’t flinch when you hug me hello and I certainly won’t give in when you beg for forgiveness.
I don’t know why I’m here. We’ve done this before, this is all too familiar. I know what you’ll ask for, I know what you’ll look like. You’ll be a bag of nerves. And then there’s me.
I feel like a souvenir, this seems like deja vú. These years have toughened me up and I sit here with nerves of steel. I can see you. You look just the same. Nothing has changed. Except me.
One Day After.
As I write this, I’m saying goodbye to five years of pent up sorrow and embers of fury.
You had an axe to grind. You made it very clear. Oh but it gave me a silent pleasure and it silenced the fire in me when you grovelled for mercy yesterday. I struck a deal with the man I once loved. Zero contact and no expectations if you let me be. But you had to fight me. You’ve learnt nothing, apparently. The years didn’t treat you well.
Initially, I thought meeting you and seeing you again would lead me into a blind alley.
But I’m standing at the top of the hill and you’re at cross roads. The 16th of October changed me for better and you for worse because you lost your support system and I became my own.
A Week After.
I never would have in my wildest dreams thought I would say the words I’m about to. But I was a fool and I rushed in where the angels fear to tread. You were the demon who chased me.
And now I stand, a free woman, bearing no burden of memories. I feel like I could fly.