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Evidence of Love

I took a steady grip around the metal bar and used my upper body strength to launch onto the deck. It was not a new procedure of mine, and I was surely beginning to get skilled at it. As I wiped off my hands on my skintight jeans, I reached for the doorknob. Unlocked - just as I knew it would be. I closed the door to the balcony and took in my surroundings. A quick glance and it would all appear the same as a month ago - the last time I set my foot in here. There was the floral wallpaper that you had tried so hard to cover with posters of Jay-Z and Jon Bellion. Clothing items were scattered all over your floor. The control freak in me felt an urge to pick them up and put them in a neat pile on your wooden chair. Your skateboard that you had spent so much money on was leaning against the wall. I remembered how you held my hand as I was trying to keep balance on the board. I shook my head and my eyes met the lamp. I realized that the shattered light bulb had not been replaced and the memory made me blush. I wondered why you would leave it that way, but perhaps replacing a lightbulb just did not fit into your booked social schedule. In fact, I was not even sure if you knew how to get that done. And then there was your bed. Right when I saw it, I knew something was different. The white bedding laid neatly on top of the mattress. You had made your bed, and that was something you never did. Normally the sight of fresh washed bedding would satisfy my desires, but this time it was different. I put the fabric between my fingertips and felt the softness of it. Somehow, I ended up laying on your bed, underneath your blanket. The feeling was so familiar, but as I smelled the bedding, I could not sense any smell of burned cigarettes, musky cologne or sweat. Neither could I smell a rosy scent, touch of feet, or nude lipstick. It was as if every trace of me had been erased, and that was not something I did not like the thought of. My head sunk into your pillow and I looked up to your ceiling. My favorite part of your room was the little window up there. I saw a glimpse of your smile, a touch of a hand, a reach for the sky, an expectation of forever as I stared into the oblivion. The sky was covered by clouds, creating an emptiness. They could not tell me anything, and surely they could not give me the reassurance I needed. I closed my eyes, wanting to sleep but knowing that I could not. If my calculations were correct, I had an hour to complete my mission.
     Ending a relationship of three years is not easy. Along the way, the two of us have had problems. We broke up and got back together in a constant cycle, but somehow, I always ended up back at your doorstep and I want to hate myself for it. I wished that instead of finding myself inside your house, I would have run into the woods, united with the trees and not returned. I told myself that all the effort I put into us must mean something.

I shook the blanket off of my body and suddenly become very aware of every particle; piece of you, clinging to my skin. Coming here was a stupid mistake. I stripped down and walked into your bathroom. I jumped straight into the shower without waiting for the water getting warm. I used your mom’s expensive body wash and scrubbed my skin until I could see pieces of dead skin flake off. As the water dripped down my face, I felt you slowly wash off of me, leaving me bare - regaining my identity, returning back to the girl who three years ago met a boy that was said to be a bad influence, but ended up being a true sweetheart. There is something so desirable about a boy who exposes his true self when he is around you. When he breaks down his walls, no longer acting in a particular way to regain a high social status. Maybe I was wrong for thinking I had changed you. I dried my body with your sister’s Winnie The Pooh towel that I found in the cupboard. I wrapped it around my body and stepped back into your room with the intention to clean up my mess, but that is when I heard a car pull up on the drive way. I felt my heart pounding in my chest and my body starting to shiver. The towel fell to the ground and I was exposed.
     My hand automatically reached to your bedside drawer. In there was a wooden book that consisted of a secret compartment. I knew very well that this was where you hid your marijuana, and somehow I felt a sudden desire to smoke a blunt. As I opened the little wooden book, I did not find any cigarettes. In there was the necklace that you had given me. The necklace that I, a month ago, had torn off and returned in the midst of furious tears. How I had grabbed your lamp and slammed it against your wall, thrown the flowers that had dried of thirst off your balcony, as you pressed your face against your pillow, not letting me look at you. I took the necklace in my hand, the small little crystals that formed a never ending loop. And somehow, that was enough evidence for me not to let go.




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