I'll Get By...

There’s this sudden urge to hurt someone. Not physically, no; but to rip apart into shreds a relationship that has lasted this long and make someone actually feel what they’re talking about. All this talk there is of goodbyes, farewells and whatnots; how they’ll miss you for an eternity and are sad to let you go. Bullshit.

Two days. That’s the amount of time it’ll take to leave you go. Because every change is something new, for you and for them. And so, while they may be sad and may even cry tonight, the weather tomorrow morning will be beautiful and, try as they might, they’ll feel better. Reminiscence is too forced to last before the sheer beauty of a sweet surrender. The day after that, life will move on, as it should; and your name shall be remembered in loving memory for five minutes at a time in increasing intervals. A text message sent, no replies received; on to the next pastime. Once a week, then a month, then every Birthday.

And thus my urge to grab someone, scream at them, shake them senseless, say things that I know will hurt them for decades to come, and leave them with just one certainty: they’re glad I’m leaving, because they’d never like to see my face again. Then maybe they’ll feel the bile rise up every single time they think of me, and know what it is to remember someone. Maybe Sartre will be easier to understand after that.

I don’t mean anyone particular I’m targeting when I say this. I don’t even have a list of possible people in mind. I say this to everyone I know in this place: “I love you, and I know you mean well, but stop saying it’ll be difficult to move on. I know it won’t.”

Honestly, I don’t know if this is true. I don’t even know what to do now that I’ve written this down. But maybe, maybe, now I’ll be able to sleep at night, and not have every single day of the last three and a half years I spent here passing through my head before I wake up.