The Last Straw


It’s funny. I hear people describe me as some fire-breathing dynamic woman, and I can’t believe anybody actually thinks that. I’m really so soft, and so fragile. I really have the most tender of feelings.

Also… I love the very worst men.

I wish I could tell you all the beautiful things about the man I love, but what I really take away from today, is that the one thing I love most about him… is that he wants absolutely nothing to do with me.

He must know.

Every bit of flirtatious rejection confirms every last worst fear I thought I’d kept hidden. He wants me to make his days lovely, while he disregards that I don’t sleep at night because of him.

I’m supposed to swallow those hard words, choke on that disappointment, and not verbalize it when he’s literally inches away from my paralyzed lips.

Ever the masochist, I kept begging him for an answer, regardless of how much it might sting.

Nothing. Incidentally, nothing stings more than apathy.

All this pain. All this exhaustion… and he’s got nothing to say. I’m drowning in words to the point I’m stunned silent and he doesn’t have two syllables for me.

Painful doesn’t begin to describe it. I’m honestly tempted to call a realtor, quit my job and book a flight to Aruba. Fuck it. What’s the point of all this nonsense, anyway?

Well… because I have an example to set, and a shitty excuse to replace. It’s awfully easy to cry yourself into being a victim instead of a survivor. I did my champagne cry today. He thought I bought a second bottle to celebrate… but I knew exactly where this was headed.

I just needed one last kick to the face, it seems.

Eyes black, nose broken… The injuries that result from such a thing are no walk in the park.

I should be grateful. It’s only my heart. It’s only my faith. That’s all. It’s only the most unexpected hole in my heart and the worst mistake I’ve ever made.

I wish this were more April Fool’s than Status Quo.

For what it’s worth, I broke my own heart for the last time today. I don’t know why I need to shatter it freshly with him every time, but I seem to have grown accustomed to the torment. It gets me nowhere but stuck further in the muck and mire of unrequited feelings and he does nothing but taunt me further down that dead end.

So I spoke up today and said the hard things. I let the tears roll down cheeks filled more with regret than anguish. I regret him. Every single bit of him. The lips I ache for and the chest I miss so much. Those hands. That mouth. His laugh. The way he tells me things and teaches me things I didn’t even give a shit about until he opened his mouth. Those little details that may always haunt me.


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