I just don’t get it. Why does every goodbye have to end with pleads not to forget? If it’s worth remembering, then why isn’t it worth sticking to? And if it’s not worth sticking to, then why should it be worth remembering?
She hurls down the stairs, as if I had just stung her. I can tell the crying’s started, but there isn’t exactly anything I can do about that. Follow her? I wish; she’d get even more aggressive. One thing that always made us tick was how I would tell what she exactly needs at any given moment. Right now, I know she just needs to be left to her own devices.
She’ll come around, or so I like to think. If she’s so eager about me ‘documenting’ everything, etching it in my memory, then she wants me to save it for something. Otherwise it’s plain selfish. If she’s not coming back, it’s bad enough. Why would she make it even worse for me by having me hold on to its memory until the day I die?
Yesterday wasn’t as bad. It was close enough to the end, I could tell. But not as bad.
“I wish I could take care of this house for you,” she said while nestled in my arms. I held her so carelessly; little did I know it could be our last night together.
She would’ve made a brilliant housewife. Knowing where everything goes, being the expert she is in my favorite food, and a mother! Oh God; a brilliant mother! She clearly invests her time in prepping for the big day. Not big on school; almost skill-less and not even interested in a 9-5 hour job. She fits the profile.
I don’t want to freeze it. If she’s gone for good, then at least she should have the courtesy to allow me to get over her. Why the drama? It’s bad enough as it is! Why the promises and the tears and the hysterical descendance down the stairs?
I turn around, head to bed. Thank God I haven’t been sleeping for days. I’ll just sleep for now; thoughtlessly.
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