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Can I say this isn't how everyone feels when they pour salt into a wound?1

I kick my bike stand down.2

[And I see myself six months ago, running to the door for him]3

I take a deep breath. Knock on the door]4

[The door opens before I can knock, and he greets me with little boy kisses.5

I plaster on a smile and take a pleasant tone.6

[He pulls me inside and leads me to the kitchen]7

"Hey, how are you?"8

I'm choking on these casual bits of denial.9

"I'm good. Are you wearing a backpack full of bricks? You can take it off and get comfortable."10

Oh, yeah. Get comfortable while I'm staring down the crutch that held me up for nine months through EVERYTHING that could have torn me apart. Let me kick off my shoes and prick holes into your nice leather couch with my hairs standing on end. 11

I want to grab him by his bony shoulders and scream to him everything that went on between us, to remind him and ask why it's fair that he's happily wrapped up in his newest infatuation and I'm fending for myself all over again12

I think13

"I met you years ago and I felt something even then, just a softer spot in comparison to all the heartthrob boys in my notebook. Remember when I tried to leave forever and you told me you cared? Remember how I came back form California a week later? I came back, my guns of impulse blaring, and I made you mine. And I fell in love."14

He doesn't hear any of it.15

The longest fifteen minutes of my life.16

Like getting your hairs pulled one at a time, a little pain that you wince away and brush off until it happens so many times that you're a mess on the floor by the time you've gotten them all out.17

I slip on my shoes.18

I fasten my backpack.19

I smile.20

And he smiles back. I'm straining every muscle in my watery eyes to keep them from leaking, but with no avail21

One cinema worthy tear dribbles down my cheek, but I keep my expression steadfastly warm.22

Inside I'm picturing a dozen different ways to off myself on his lawn.23

And the articles that would follow.24

And how many people would be at my funeral.25

I shut the door and ride straight into a park to throw a fit on the sidewalk.26

I scream27

I choke28

I snort and sniffle and let every bit of it ooze and pour and leak and flood.29

Why?30

Because it's just as valid as anything, because I need it to let go.31

I need this ridiculous pieces of high school drama. I need those short intense relationships.32

I need crazy love.33

And more than anything, I need to cry.34

So I do.35


I'm crying while I'm peddling up hill and around corners.36

I'm crying as I coast down avenues and shiver in the snow.37

I'm crying as I adjust my head lamp and swerve on and off the sidewalk.38

I cry so hard I give myself a head ache. I cry like a pissed off three year old with a headless barbie doll.39

I cry like someone just stole my ice cream.40

I cry like a starving baby with a nipple-less mother.41

The wind stings my fingertips as I steer myself into the drive way of the Waffle House.42

I take two, quivering, deep, long, dramatic breaths and wipe the navy blue mascara from my eyes.43

I clean my glasses and throw up my hood.44

I open the door and step inside.45

I put my best smile on and rise out the last of my adolescent woe, knowing that despite my best efforts, I'll feel it again, because I'm young enough to muster the energy for it. Because I'm not old enough to calm down, even if I want to.46