December 17, 2008
By Charlotte Bakalar, Rhinebeck, NY

I sit and read,
Trying to ignore what happened.
The voice in my mind calls.
I think of sleep,
Let the thought caress my head for a moment.
I could sleep.
Sleep and dream,
dream of him.
The one who left.
My eyes start to sting as I think of him.
My whole body aches just thinking of his smile.
His crooked smile.
No dreaming.
Dreaming leads to hoping.
Hoping he’ll come back.
There is no hope.
He won’t come.
I can’t think of him.
I mustn’t.

I get up,
Not quite used to my feet just yet.
I walk to my mirror and stare at my blotchy face and red eyes.
Was I not pretty enough?
Not thin enough?
Who defines that?
Who defines pretty?
He did.
My heart hurt as I thought of him.
Not even daring to think his name.
Trying to avoid the truth I know I must face.

I walk to the couch.
Trudging through the hazy fog that I wish was just a dream.
I am alone.
My own best friend.
No longer willing to trust.
You trusted him though.
The voice in my head whispered.
When did things change?
When did he stop caring?
Sobs burst from my chest.
More sobs come.
Sobs for him leaving,
Sobs for my mistakes,
Sobs for sorrow,
Sobs for sobbing.
I wish the tears would make it better.
They won’t.

“It was his fault.”
I thought in between sobs.
My heart thought otherwise.
I shouldn’t have told him.
Shouldn’t have asked for his comfort.
He wouldn’t help.
Did I ask for too much when I asked for comfort?
His face.
His dimples.
His smile.
His laugh.
His voice.
His whispers.
His blinks.
I miss him.
I should hate him.
I should hurt him,
Should hurt him like he hurt me.
But I didn’t hate him,
And I wouldn’t hurt him.
I did not crave ice cream or sympathy.
I craved the three words I’d strived for.

To much.
Everything reminded me of him.
I gave in.
Gave up.
There wouldn’t be anyone else.
He is perfection.
I hate him.
I hate him because I love him.
The room turns black, as I dream.
Dream of him.

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