images (1)

You’ve always been everybody’s favorite girl, well almost everybody, and they all want to ask me about you since you moved on.  Casual friends, close relatives, sometimes even strangers (to me but maybe not to you) have approached me to lightheartedly ask “How’s our girl doing?” It’s at that precise moment that I feel my eyes start to glaze over, my face warp and freeze and then empty meaningless words start creeping out of my mouth like slow moving reptiles. “You know, she’s hanging in there.” “Well, no news is good news.” “She’s loving it out there and doing her own thing.” They don’t know what you “moved on” from, do they? I haven’t told them.

Look at me. I’ve turned into a pathetic cliché zombie. I know very well there’s an elephant in the room, but it’s still invisible to them. They smile and quickly change the subject, like their innocent but brief well-meaning acknowledgment of your existence has brought some bright ray of sunshine into my life. Of course, that’s the people that don’t know me.

The others – that very small group of people who can almost see behind the mask; they’re bold enough to call my hand. Maybe they ask no more questions because they don’t want to have to walk on eggshells around me or to have to move out of their comfort zone or wait for the other shoe to drop. They smile feebly and move on to other topics.

Then, there are my one or two real friends – the ones to whom I can pour out my heart and the only ones I will let see me cry.  They’re the beloved ones who cry with me and try desperately to give me some kind of comfort. Yet, even they don’t know that once I have given in and spoken those words that my mouth toils to speak, I go home and crawl into bed and pull the covers up high. I try to rescue what’s left of my soul from the death of a thousand cuts so tomorrow, or maybe the next day or the next, I can get on with my wretched life – only to do all this again the next time.

Only one person in my life is close enough to view the full carnage behind the mask, and he suffers from what he sees happening in MY life, not from what you have chosen to happen in yours…and he loves me still, like I love you still.

So, did you find all the clichés that fell victim to my keyboard?

I miss you.  So much.

Leave a Reply