At first, when my heart was still raw and bleeding, when the pain was too much for me to draw a deep breath, I imagined I'd say something heartfelt. Something out of a country song (not a good country song, but a country song, the kind with the whiny slide guitar and the cane-syrup-sweet lryics), something about how I'd never stopped loving you. And you'd put your arms around me and pull me close and the world would spin and everything would be good again.
Then, after some time had passed, and I'd allowed myself to get angry at you -- and make no mistake, I was angry at you, with a burning passion that sometimes frightened even me -- I thought that I'd probably just growl out a "Fuck you" and walk away. Or maybe I'd play it cold and distant -- "I'm sorry, do I know you?" Sometimes it was you speaking first, begging me to take you back, and I'd respond with something cutting and pithy before turning on the pointy heel of my boot and striding away from you, leaving you crushed and broken.
Then I started to think that I'd play it out like a scene out of a John Hughes movie. I'd stride up to you, Molly-Ringwald cool, and stand in front of you, forcing you to look at me. I'd look you straight in the face and say, "I just wanted you to know that you didn't break me." And then I'd walk away. I wouldn't even look back to see how you reacted.
These days? After all this time?
I don't think I'd say a thing. Oh, I wouldn't hide from you or hope that you didn't see me. I'd make damn sure you saw me. I'd fill up your field of vision with everything I've become over the last decade, I'd pull myself up to my full height and throw my shoulders back and meet your gaze. But I'd make no comment.
And that silence would tell everything you need to know -- that I didn't just survive you, I fucking thrived without you.
Comments
I love this. I can really relate to it!
Him: Nice to see you again. Is it Ms or Mrs?
Her: Dr.
I love what you did with this prompt. This is great! This is...mighty!