I feel torn, beaten really. My body feels tarnished, and weak. I don’t feel suited to be loved.
Yet, what else is new? I’ve come to realize that I cannot admit to new people in my life your whereabouts.I can’t just say ‘you’re dead’, instead, it gives the impression that you walked out on us, rather than being buried ten feet in the ground.
Gabby, my new summer friend. That’s what I call her, because I know she’s only a substitute, a temporary dream, something to make me forget my complexity, and loneliness. She asked where you were. I didn’t want to lie and say David was you, though, I’ve done that in the past, to acquaintances that have dropped by, just out of pure uncomfortable, informality. I just stared at her, every time she asked, luckily, she’s a wild card, and isn’t all that judgmental, a tattered past behind her belt as well. It’s just funny, that I still, after years, cannot just say it like it’s of normality, of consistency in my life your absences.
I feel pathetic, but for other reasons all too common to share. Everyone upstairs is getting drunk, in honor of Memorial Day. Mom threw a large gathering. I wish I was just slightly buzzed. Maybe, it’d wash out the montages constantly replaying in my head. Why do I miss Alex?
I didn’t want him originally from the start. Why does it feel he’s embedded in my heart? Can I ever stop trying to form things into poetic genius? I feel like I’m constantly writing a poem, every time I open my laptop and hit Microsoft Word.
Still. He’s there. In my brain. I had another dream. We were in his car. Somewhere. We only in reality stayed in his car for a half an hour at best, to get to our common destination, his house, his bedroom. Yet, in this dream, we were parked.
He in the drivers seat, I on his lap. Something Brandon and I did almost every time we met. I was kissing him, he had a massive breakout on his face. Red, oily, pimples scattered his face. Still, I had the natural urge to kiss him anyways. We stopped kissing for a while. I began to start talking to him, still perched on his lap. He started to roll his eyes, giving me that look, the common look he always use to give me, that look that spoke, “Katie, really? You really just said that Katie?” I never noticed it before while we were together, or I just didn’t care what he thought.
Now, I realize that he gave me that look daily.
The back of the drivers seat dissolved, and he hung his head back. I’m not sure if he was dead at that point, or just didn’t want to look at me. Then I woke up. It was unsatisfying, and I woke up sad, but grateful that I was in my own bed, and not in Leah’s. I always get sad waking up dreaming of Alex and noticing that I’m in Leah’s bed, and not my own, because I know I’ll have to go downstairs and cover up my unsatisfaction.
I don’t even know why I’m so damn sad still. I had two months of happiness with him, two months of horror with him, and if you ask him, we were over by the third month. I just can’t get him etched out of my mind. I know she has a better chance at loving him than I ever did. Probably, because I knew how Alex and I would of ended from the start. Maybe, that’s why my heart and soul wasn’t in it, he could sense that I’m sure.
Then the asshole took hold of him.
Fake personas all around. I pretended to be the attempting to care, almost girlfriend, he the understanding, caring, almost boyfriend.
We both failed.
I just want to be touched again. Dan is starting to become a full option, but the only probably with him is, I know he’ll give his all to me, no tests, no second best, I’m his.
That scares me, that’s why hiding behind tools is easier, expecting to get hurt is easier, getting hurt by someone who is almost half way decent is too frightening to even imagine.
© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.
Book / Literary Fiction
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
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