"When You Leave"

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
When love leaves, a heart break occurs. Does time heal all wounds?
A hybrid of short story and an essay form. This piece switches person narration between first and second.

The story follows the heart break of a love, of one in particular, no one in particular, and everyone at the same time.
The narrator walks through three distinctive stages of the aftermath and ponders if healing really is possible.

P.S. I will update this story soon, go back and correct the mistakes that I didn't see before posting. Sometimes copying and pasting from my word document messes up the format and sentences get caught in the middle, punctuation thrown off. ( I have linux so my word processor program is different.) If you would like me to correct anything please let me know!

Submitted: October 10, 2009

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Submitted: October 10, 2009

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"When You Leave"






Dear, reader:

Love happens to us all. In many different; forms, varieties, and ages. Some of us repeatedly fall in love, while others fall in love only once, and probably a bigger portion of us never had the luxury to fall in love—truly.

Once upon a time, a girl meets a boy by pure chance, luck, or perhaps destiny. They begin to spend time together and slowly create a bond with one another. Through the course of time they walk through hardships and over come challenges. They create precious memories together. When they finally catch their breath—both realize they're in love. They continue to walk together on the path of life hand in hand, holding onto one another's life and the dear life itself. However happiness doesn't last for eternity. Love too, like everything else has its short comings. Somewhere along the path they decided to walk on together; something big, or something of no importance happens and the boy leaves. And so, she's left to grieve her lost love, and wonder & question. The only thing she can do is to embrace her new life after the man of her love wreaked wrath upon her. So, our story begins.

The end of a relationship for the most part is not the most pleasant thing. It has difficulties for each side. No one can say that it's easier one one, rather than the other. When one of the individuals shows enough courage to speak up and display his true emotions; shattering everything lived priorly. In mean while, this honesty risks the other individual's feelings, dreams and hopes to be crushed. Reasons unknown, unfathomable and unfair to one. Each scarred differently, but evidently. How can you prosecute the other for being honest and seeking to be happy without her? And, the rest of the story continues on like this.

You left. Simply. Out of the blue. I never knew what hit me. It was the worst blow I had ever received in my entire life. I didn't know what to do. I was stranded out there. Miserable. My heart wouldn't stop aching, my tears wouldn't stop flowing. My life ended that day. I had given “us” all, and you meant the world to me. It was so easy for you. I remember that ominous day so clearly. You were so calm, so collected. It didn't even leave a dent on you. You were so self righteous and self centered. You were the sun of my universe, and I just hopelessly revolved around you. Night after night. The words rolled off your tongue with comfort. I still can't comprehend how easy it was for you to end everything, after all this time. Didn't all we went through, the emotions of our love matter? You didn't even seem concerned for me. You didn't try to hold onto our love. You didn't stand up and protect it! Like you were doing me a favor. Like I was somehow not supposed to be hurt? Like this was just a toy you could pick up and leave\\? Like I wasn't attached to you through every possible way? After so much time, how could you think that I won't have feelings of hurt and betrayal? My whole world came crushing down that day. Then our story kicked it up a notch.

When you utter simple constructed sentences that can very well be the end of the world for me. What did you expect me to do but to fall apart? The sad part is that you know you have this power over me. Yet, you consciously use it without guilt or as much as looking back twice at all I've done, all the good memories we shared, and the sweet time we had together. You certainly didn't think about what we have overcame as a couple, as individuals. You didn't even reconsider ruling out all I've sacrificed, all of my efforts, the time I've put into assurance of your happiness. Nor do you illustrate any hesitation to think you can actually work this out. You won't even bother to try. At the very least you never even put forth the effort to make it work. When all is said and done, one should be able to say I tried my very best, however it just didn't work.” You, can't say that. You just gave up when things got hectic in your life. I was so disposable for you. I can't believe it. It shatters my heart. But, what gets to me is that, you haven't cared enough to give us a chance. After all of this time. I would of assumed, you at least cared for my feelings. All of this harboring and fostering, I would of assumed you had grown attached too. You would of wanted to save it. You would of cared about something you have given efforts into. It's so much easier to just leave, and presume I won't feel anything. Like I won't know the difference when you're gone? My feelings can't be turned off like a light switch. I am not a robot! Just because you're gone, doesn't mean my feelings won't be as strong and that I won't suffer. Just because you decided to leave, it's not a precursor to feeling numb. Just because we're not holding hands and smooching doesn't mean the passion in my heart dissipates. It doesn't mean I won't feel the loneliness and I won't miss you. It's not a program to execute. Feelings linger on for much longer periods after the relationship ends. It's not street cleaning day for crying out out-loud! No! I will feel despair, and grieve. Because you are not holding me in your arms as we lay down to slumber, doesn't mean it won't hurt when you're not there in the morning. Officialness of a relationship status does very little to me. Just because you're not with me anymore, I will suffer. The story of a boy and a girl, only gets sadder after a break-up.

In all honesty, I would expected the decency for you to be truly honest, sit down and communicate with me before it got to this point. How did we get to this point? What happened, where? Is it because I was madly in-love with you? Did you get over confident because I worshiped the ground you stepped on? Did you lose yourself because I cared so much and did I become disposable? You could of just tried, talk, you could have been decent about it. You were a good person once upon a time. Where did that person go? Did you become such a robot? You were so un-phased it still haunts me today.

But to do all of that … that would take courage, conviction, determination and emotions; the very things you lack in your core. Nonetheless to say you're a great human being. Nonetheless you're a lousy lover. Emotionally distant, unable to share your life, express your feelings, and most definitely losing someone who has emotionally and physically drained herself to be with you does not matter to you at all. Was I that replaceable? Was everything between us so ordinary? Did our emotions count so little? Didn't they add up to anything? You lack remorse in your actions. Dear reader, I was heart broken and betrayed. My world came unleashed and fell apart so quickly. I was never prepared.

So you leave, because it's so much easier. You're a coward. You remove yourself from my life, thinking it wont hurt, it shouldn't hurt. Could a person get more conceited? My feelings were not mere superficial gestures to presume it wouldn't ache my heart when you left, throw me in misery under the sunlight and despair through the night. You couldn't be more shallow to think I wouldn't grieve over one true love I had the pleasure and the luck to feel and live. How horribly we might ended up. Sorrow could not begin to describe how I felt; I was instantly crushed, smashed, and I felt like a speck of dirt, invisible, replaceable, un-special, and unimportant. Very things I had never felt before. I was mortified and this was only the beginning. I was unable to sleep at night on the very same bed we would lay to slumber together. The pain to walk through the very same streets we once walked together hand in hand was consuming. The movies we watched together, snuggling up on the couch, under the covers were a constant reminder of once happy times--was long gone. When you left me by myself, misery was my constant company. It never left me alone for a second. To be trapped within the city you and I once lived was the biggest torture I had ever known. Everything was a constant walk down the memory lane. Everywhere, every corner, everything reminded me of you. Memories lurked up behind foundations that made every city. Cafés, bookstores, restaurants, concert halls, little English Pubs in secret alleys. They all smelled of you, they all brought the happy memories of our once strong and unified love.

The misery one feels at separation, the heart break of the broken promises, the un-lived moments, and the drudgery is carved into my heart and mind for eternity. The fatigue one feels within moments of overhauled emotional discharge is overwhelming. I was consumed by darkness. It hurt to breathe and crying was the only certainty in my life. I cried relentlessly. Like that was going to bring you back. Nothing would, nothing could. I knew that very well. My flesh stabbed, and my soul was drenched in hate and betrayal. Sun disappeared from the earth for me. I saw nothing in life, in myself. I was hallow. I was amiss. You were lacking from my life, trust from my mind, love from my heart and my soul, so severely punctured, it will always remain so. Hold on dear reader, our story continues.

At this point I questioned everything and I was the lowest of all. Didn't anything matter? That was one of the many things that I kept asking myself. Over and over. I truly felt, what we had was special, bright, extraordinary, and true. Something that wasn't based on carnal desires--lust. Something that wasn't as superficial as just to have someone in my life to be later on replaced by somebody else convenient at the time. I was convinced, that almost as if fate worked to get us together, to contain, to tie and unite us. Now, the autumn wind blows through where my heart had been once. Its gaping and hallow now. Where my life sustained me—at one point. Where my heart held my soul, my dreams, my undying admiration and love for you.

So much for the thought of the past and bonds created through it. It makes me wince at the thought of it and the darkness it swallowed me into. I pondered and questioned my very own existence and everything about you, everything you ever said, you ever did. Which in return made me realize how much of a stranger we were to one another; how distant you were, always shutting me out. How little you fit into my life. How little effort you put into trying to fit me into your life. I saw every fault, every lie, every mistake; everything I had turned the blind eye to. Everything I had ignored and buried deep, floated to the surface one by one. The pain, the sorrow, the grief, the hatred, the betrayal, the cries never left. It was a constant reminder and I couldn't help but dream about you. I was so pathetic. I couldn't help but long for you. I hated myself for that. I wanted nothing more than to forget you, and erase our time together from my mind and my body. But the harder I tried, the more you were imprinted in me. Leaving your mark all over me without any remorse. I abhorred what you made me become. I lost all zest of life. I had come to doubt myself. Something I came face to face for the first time in my life. Oh, but wait dear reader. There is more to this story.

One only feels worse after arriving at such thoughts and convictions. The remains of my so called true love betrayed me wholly. It truly was a true love. To love someone in their glory and in their defeat. I was so devoted that even in your shame and guilt, I continued to love you all the same. My love just could not be ripped from my bosom. Such devotion and such commitment I had for you. None shall ever have the same for you, ever again. After exclaiming to be truly in love and that the Universe somehow looked out after your eternal love. The thought of somehow that you were meant to be with this person.

However, now the red ribbon that tied us together was cut. The two ends no longer connected you and me together. My misery, my pain only grew bigger after that realization. The aftermath gets to every person at the end. It just catches up with you. One way or another. Whether you like it or not. Just like it caught up to me; although I avoided it at all costs. But you wouldn't believe in my agony and angst. You'd dismiss it by claiming I shouldn't have such feelings. Right...

...Besides disappointment, a whole wave of misery washed over with my body reddening, and burning under the thought. Its enough to drive anyone into the edge of madness, a break down, and become clinically depressed with droopy eyes and all. Then the most horrid happens; you shatter, everything becomes a lie in your eyes, a relationship of convenience and make belief, shape shifting your whole world and existence. The relationship you so carefully raised in your bosom became everything you defied with your whole resolve. The point you finished at is barely believable and you curse yourself for ever being so blind and trusting. “The Universe did always love playing pranks on me” is the only thing you can say to yourself and its your weak attempt to laugh at your own misfortune. “What a calamity” is what you think. By now, every foundation you placed yourself, your thoughts and your world on is shaken and broken. But little do you know of events yet to unfold. If you had known, it would of made you laugh uncontrollably. Dear reader, have I caught your interest yet?

There are phases. First you deny. Then you go through what I have just tried to describe. The pain, the angst, the hysterics, the doubt. Then they tell you, the medicine to your ailment, the balm to your wounds, the cure to your stupidity, the solution to your naiveté (not because you were innocent or inexperienced, which further proves your stupidity) is TIME. They continue to tell you that with time, pain eases. With time, you forget. With time, the residue dissipates. With time, it all gets better.

Dear reader, Does time really heal wounds? Healing sounds promising, but unrealistic as something out of a seraph and a childish fairy tale. Fairy tales are beautiful, promising, magical and shiny, but unfounded and nonexistent. And believing in them is useless. What makes fairy tales sweep our feet off the ground is that they're not real, the sounds of promise allures us to hopelessly believe in something that isn't. Fairy tales are not real, and they don't happen in real life. That answers your question about fairy tale materialization and realization.

TIME, only allows to teach one to learn to move on, how to cope and bury the pain. Steps are simple enough when you do it in theory. In practice, although it falls into its own natural pattern, rhythm rather naturally—its excruciating while you're in the process though. TIME does not move fast enough. You're stuck in a rut and everything stretches out until there is nothing left of you. This is where our story picks up it's pace and finally gets interesting.

Initially you are agonized in pain and you suffer day in and night out. Nothing can stop your pain. Sun doesn't shine, moon has lost its allure, no lust can contain you, you dread everything and anything in life. Forget running away from the things that remind you of that person. That's impossible. Even if you escaped that in the outside world (which is hardly possible), when you come home it all comes crashing down. Your own personal hell. It plays in your head, over and over. You long for sweet slumber and dreaming to escape from the pain even for a few short hours. Anything will do. You think to yourself “I am tormented enough during my waking hours, surely dreams will be my narcotic to escape.” But, of course, The Universe finds another way to damn you, to condemn you and to commit you in hell. Your sleeping time turns into nightmares and night terrors where you are left helplessly at the mercy of your mind and subconscious. Sweet slumber, how peaceful it sounds. Another thing you are denied by the Universe.

Meanwhile you suffer and grieve. When you do that for enough time or enough amount: When your mourning and misery has devoured you to your core, your sorrow visible to the naked eye, your own soul punctured into million holes and somehow the pain runs out. You live your pain at incredible lengths and heights; eventually, one of two things happens. Pain runs out after either a certain amount or time, which I am pretty sure varies from person to person. After the pain and as time passes, how much or how long, determined by someone, something, but to whose standards I haven't the slightest clue. I very much would like to know though. Someone...something decides you have done your time, and it is enough. It is time to move on to the next phase. Someone in this Universe has to be watching. Until the very last drop of you has been sucked out and bled out dry. When there is nothing to feel, to live there anymore.

Next as a transition to the next step your own instincts starts kicking, and screams at you to start fighting. Albeit a little late; however better late than never. When you are about to literally die from heart ache you go numb. This black hole, void, an abyss, nothingness welcomes you and allures you openly, shamelessly into its depths. You don't dare reject it's offer. You'll die before you do that. You've been in misery, and hatred for so long, to feel nothing equates to heaven. You want to feel nothing. That is your heaven. You don't want to be touched by anything or anyone in life. You sleep on void's bosom and somehow survive what you thought was the calamity, ending of the Universe. Nothingness embraces you warmly and tightly reminding you of a mother and how she pacifies her baby—namely you—in the arms of a loving, caring mother. Abyss calls to you. You answer it's call back without a hesitant. Ah, to feel nothing... To be in the black hole is what you have been seeking all this time. To not feel anything. You rejoice. To sleep peacefully for one full night. That could be the biggest gift the Universe could give you. After all, the torture begins to dissipate, vanish slowly but surely. While it lasts it is wonderful. This stage takes rather quite a long time. After dying and being sent into hell, but ending back on earth is a gift, a miracle beyond your reach and understanding. You don't question it. In return you welcome it openly and let it charm your wits endlessly.

Dear reader, this is when you take life by grains. To feel nothing is a miracle. To be in abyss is a sure sign that things have gotten better. You've been in pain for so much and for so long, that you can't imagine a world without it. Your mind can only stretch as so far as to feel nothing. Beyond it is not in the capacity of your heart. You become acquainted with void. Swimming in endless nothingness is your narcotic, your escape. Afterwards, it hits you—more like bitch slaps you on the face. You are no longer able to feel anything. Sure, you no longer feel the torturous pain , but you also don't feel emotions like; happiness, joy, gratitude, mercy and empathy or a sense of well being. You feel nothing. There is nothingness. You are in this black hole, a huge void where you are apathetic to everything and anything. An endless, dark, cold, lonely well. Heck if loneliness bothers you though. Its your pain reliever. You don't have to pretend to be okay anymore. You can be you, around you. You can be in shambles and in a mess, without having to worry about how people are going to pity you next. You don't have to wear a mask to fool everyone. You become sick of everyone's constant reminding questions. It makes you delirious. The world could crumble down and nothing could shock or surprise you, or much your amazement could hurt you. Instead of crying your heart away when you find out at the death of a dear close relation, you feel absolute nothing. At the birth of your niece, you feel this void where you know you should be overjoyed but you just can't seem to get yourself to actually feel it. Why would anyone want to bring another human life onto this damned planet? That's the only thing running through your mind. North Korea could be nuking your home town and all you could manage to say was, “well we all foresaw it coming. We all have to die one day”. The most repressing things can't really seem to worry you, nor the responsibilities seem all that heavy. Not that by some miracle you have matured, but really, what else could happen that was worst then now? The answer as it was to everything else, nothing. Therefore, you just don't care. Nothing worries you. You are after all in the pit of the abyss. Hell if you care what you look like, or let your life go down the drain, slowly as you lose in touch with reality. Days are a blur and nights pass you by. Your life is either dull, or you are asleep. Nothing interests you anymore. You're constantly bored. Nothing interests you. Nothing contains you. The disapproving looks you get from your community also mean nothing. For all you care, tradition, culture and society are illusions to keep humans as a covenant and create the ablity to function so that the survival rate of the pact is higher than comparing to individuals acting on their own. After all society needs to keep the status quo in order to assure safety, security, vitality and perseverance. Everything you lack. You become what different people call different things like; a vampire, a zombie, a ghost, a shell of a human, the living dead, the un-dead, or my personal work and favorite phrase: Empty, life-less lump of flesh. You continue your days about like this as life runs like a wild stream right in front of your eyes. World unravels underneath you and none of it seems to make an impact on you or affect you any other way. You influence nothing, nothing influences you. Living untouched.

In the long run years pass you by, you are observed to begin to laugh and smile, feel joy and happiness. Nothingness eases though. You somehow, by a miracle, come to feel certain things. You are seen returning to the living and enjoying life actually. You learn to wear your mask so well, no one could tell the difference. It's the new you. You even fool yourself into it. In all the mean while you have mastered the art of always hiding your pain and locking darkness in a corner. Only allowing superficial feelings to fill and escape you, without ever anyone else catching a glimpse of your one woman act, your lie to survive on this damned planet. This is the third phase. Your pain, sorrow, regrets and misery lurks in the shadows, but you simply avoid those and ignore your own feelings, burying it deeper in your soul. Allowing your past to leave a bigger dent in your soul as each day grows old. Just above the surface you seem to phase through all sorts of emotions. You live your current life vicariously through eternal abhorrence, but vivid yearning for academic fulfillment, desire of travel, and the stupid bet to yourself to read as many books, articles, periodicals, or any other form of information as you can and gain as much knowledge as you can. Why? So that your brain can over haul on processing, understanding, pieces and bits of information. Eventually all information comes together and you begin critically analyzing and criticizing it so that you can have one more opinion. While you wreck your brain over these things, you don't have time to think about other things. Like what is wrong with you? You still can't feel anything. You begin to wonder if feeling at all, even if it meant feeling the darkness again, the pain, the sorrow, the misery is better than feeling nothing at all. You ponder on that for a long time. You become hesitant because your heart remembers what it felt like. Your body has carved out your heart just for that reason. Not to feel again. You go back and forth like a grandfather clock's hands. Dear reader, its harder than it appears. To go back to the world of the living is to take the biggest risk. To feel is the biggest vulnerability you can afford. You've been shattered so easily, you'd be stupid to allow any one else to have that pleasure, that gift over you. It's only common sense. Dear reader please don't judge me. I realize how pathetic this may sound. But I am sure you can relate, in one form or another.

All things considered, people falsely believe you are leading a spectacular life. You've probably moved up on the social ladder. Besides trying to lead a full and filling, mature, busy life you make it all about everyone else but you. If attention is focused on everyone else, lead far away from you, you won't have to really look at yourself in the mirror. Through folly notion that “I've helped someone today,” you can go to bed without the night terrors. You cling on to your dear family and precious friends, living through them as a third person in a novel does. You; the third person, the omniscient, all knowing narrator, with the ability to see the relations with each character who are unaware of your all-mighty knowledge. You adopt the personification of all knowing precognitive prophetess that you became. Instead of being the main character to your own story, you only manage and choose to be the narrator. You know the past. You are well aware of the present and you can see and predict the futures of these characters in the universe. You know how it will all end. You live through them. Their own life, their own emotions as yours, while influencing their lives, consoling them and patching up their wounds, giving them new hopes, you remain untouched and uninfluenced. You make it forbidden for them to touch yours. The iron clad rule. In time you realize you've allowed yourself to feel. You open the window to feel good, you allow yourself certain emotions. You make their sadness yours and you truly empathize. Their joy becomes your ecstasy. You are honestly glad for the good events that befall on those you are close to. You; the advice giver are always sought out after, for you know what should be done and how it will need to be for everyone. But, you are never able to feel happiness, never. You are incapable of it.

Something has been taken from you and you are amiss now amidst your comrades in the world. The notion that you are amiss, you are a missing a part of yourself, a part of you. That ...something...kills you and further plunges you into darkness. You become well acquainted with loneliness and weakness. The feeling and thought of being incomplete and inept, forever flawed, unhappy because you have been scarred and you miss love. “How pathetic am I?” Echoes through your mind and soul. As if being in-love and in possession of it is really what matters in life, or to you especially. Or happiness for that matter. Is that even a requirement to be a woman, to feel whole and complete, to be right and to fulfill your own destiny? Even pondering on these thoughts bothers you to no end, boils your blood and drives you into insanity and madness. You have become a mad woman, that is the truth. As you helplessly search for an escape, a way out, these feelings and thoughts torment and continue to confine and imprison you. You are forever locked in these rhetorical questions, case by case circumstances, to no avail. And you are yet again left further in the dark, in the void with no answer, no guides and no leads towards a happy, brighter future. You are left in that void, you wander about these questions for eternity in solitude. Really, what can one do? Not just you, but anyone? You are further pissed at yourself for feeling this way and that logic and realization cannot rescue you from the pits of hell, from your feelings and your uncontrollable thoughts that a forsaken love has conquered. Oh, how you had depended on this rescue, this liberation and how it failed you miserably when you needed it the most.

By and large, you slowly begin to feel again. The monster comes back from the closet you buried it. Although you feel the most abhorred things, and you damn yourself in your own confined hell, glimpse of heaven is an impossibility. You are unable to taste and feel happiness, rest, and peace. Strangely, you don't strive for heaven or peace, or happiness for that matter. These three things are estranged to you. Far from one another. You embrace this new doctrine, this new way of life. As long as you're not in pain, who needs happiness? You get by. You live. You do something with your life. The rest is history. There are brief moments of reassurance, and you learn to manage your dark life through that. Brief moments of reassurance. You forsake love for the rest of your life. You've been burned once. You don't need to be burned again.

In conclusion, we are helpless to our own fates, hearts and minds. We are helpless to our own fates for I am certain that there is a white bearded guy who is filled with irony in his wise years, laughing at me, you, her, him, and how he loves playing pranks on people --especially you. We are helpless to our hearts, because mainly it is whimsical and we cannot chose the ones we love with our minds. Our hearts has their own minds and their own desires. They choose their own kindred like. One moment our hearts are so grand, so enormous, strong and resilient. The very next moment they are shy, solemn and weak. Hearts can be shattered so easily under such a silly circumstance and you can't quite mend it no matter what. We are helpless to our own minds because the mind interprets things but we all make different queries about the very same thing. It thinks differently from one person to the next, as objective as we would like it to be, it is as subjective as the heart. In all honesty a part of me can't deny and is convinced that our minds are to some degree are influenced by our very whimsical hearts. For a heart can create any number of justifications, reasons and excuses to our hearts' sinful desires.

Lastly, I'm well traveled and well read to be frank and I can say I have figured the patterns quite well in my time on earth. However, anywhere and in everywhere included the very obscure and feeble me, the most profound knowledge one can possess is the knowledge of one's self, and the furthest distance one can travel is between themselves and their one true love.

Dear reader, does time heal wounds? In my very own humble case, the answer is clearer than day and beckons me without any consideration. NO! Sure, they have scabs all over but it continues to bleed, ooze and throb underneath the scabs and scars daily.


© Copyright 2019 NazireC. All rights reserved.

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