A VERY PLAIN STORY

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heartbreak. abuse. broken relationships.

Sitting here. Killing time. The devil whispers her woo and I lick my wounds, pleading, “Please forgive me,” and she parts her mouth. Curses like frozen pallets falling from her lips and I wrap around her waist, pulling her to my chest. “Stop!” I shout. “Stop! It’s enough. You had your say. You have broken me apart. What?! What?!”

Her bulging eyes are about to pop out as for once her incessant chatter takes a break and she freezes stunted by my shout.

“Stop,” I ease my tone. I tried being seductive and playing it off with a kiss. I tried apologizing with pitiful puppy eyes along with my words of atonement. But, she wouldn’t stop. She never stops dumping a laundry of her grievances. “I can’t do this… argue. I can’t… It’s not working. As you’ve said, ‘I’m not good for you,’ so let us be. Let us part ways and be.” I push myself from her and rise to my feet, “I’m sorry.” The last words of my fight and I begin to walk away. Not a single temptation to look back. Not a sliver of care any longer. I have enough.

“Where you’re going?!” A shriek of her last anger and demands. That significance of demand to obey. To be her trained dog and obey. Do my tricks for a treat and obey… but, I keep on walking. Not a glance. Not a turn. The change is ahead of me not to the back of me. That’s the past. A history. Lessons learned. Post-its of notes not to forget. The past to take with me but not to carry as a burden but as a feather written letters of reflection and stepping-stone to a new landscape, promises, permissions, and destinations. Such gradual change, almost invisible, but constantly moving, pushing me forward… and because of that faith and promise, I keep on walking as her voice becomes simply background noise. Part of life on a sidewalk with all the buzzing cars and radio music, people entrenched in conversations, and hissing of the sewers. The rattling noise of trains underground. Music of the city.

I disappear into the crowd as she disappears left standing frozen in her time, watching me go, watching the timeline of our love dissipate.

© Jacob Greb — 2023

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Original Date: March 15, 2020 Original Source: oneNote