the color is blinding presents pressure from the abyss.
I wrote this initially in February after a hard "breakup" of sorts (we never were officially dating), but recently found it again. Based off of a true story, the girl could be either seen as Sam or Carly, I felt that it was more of a Carly sort of story, but feel free to interpret it in different ways. Either way, I hope your days are filled with happiness, and please, enjoy~
pressure
At first she didn't realize what she was missing. She just felt a little more empty and loose in a strange manner. Loose—like she was falling to pieces. Loose—like she was unraveling and nothing could hold her together… at least nothing anymore.
It wasn't that she was incredibly sorry to see him go. No. She would beg to disagree. She was actually fairly glad to see his back walking quickly away, head hunched down until it was just a third shoulder as if doing such would help him avoid the rain.
So cliché. He would break up with her when it was raining. Not that it was probably planned, as it rained most days, but it added a sort of chick-flick-esque air to the entire situation. Though in all honesty, she knew this was coming. It was so obvious that he had been cheating on her that she could literally smell the other girl—whose identity was still unknown to her—on his clothes. But she really didn't picture him to be the kind of guy who would cheat, even after he admitted to it. He always seemed to everyone, or at least everyone before he started cheating, to be her property.
She stayed in the rain for quite some time, letting it cover her in a sharp icy blanket, slowly getting used to this strange looseness. Her hands tingled in the spots where he used to hold them tightly, where he had held them just moments before, not accustomed to the lack of pressure.
And then her calm exterior broke. A pathetic hiccup shattered the illusion and she felt the tears coming—not for the person who had just walked away, but for the missing weight of his arm over her shoulders, for the abused trust she had put in him, for the seemingly wasted months where she had doted over him. For what she knew he could be, not for what he was. For the what-could-haves, and the what-should-haves, and the what-would-haves.
For the laughter passed, and the lessons learned, and the tears shared. For the easy days, and the lazy hours, and the busy weeks. For what the past remembers, and for what the future dreams. For what all they were, and for what all they weren't. For the simplicity of it all, for the intricacy of it all. For all the time they spent together. For all the time she didn't spend with her friends. For all that happened, and for all that didn't. She cried because she was crying; she cried because she was content, because she was disappointed, but ultimately because she was relieved.
As she turned away from the rain and into her home, the rain began to pour even harder, striking the ground in short staccato notes, leaving dark spots on the asphalt road that would slowly fade to gray, then burst into dark once more.
She looked at the sky hesitantly, and stepped out from under the eaves and back into the rain and let its discordant music was over her in waves, unafraid of becoming drenched, unafraid of what would happen. She walked down the street easily now as her tears subsided and she felt like she was getting taller, as if she wasn't underneath such constraining pressure anymore, and that she was free to grow.
The street turned into a puddle soon afterwards. Without any uncertainty, she laughed—and was startled by the sound, but took it in stride, feeling empowered more than surprised—and took one step and jumped in feet first, letting the water splash up around her feet, causing ripples in every direction.
What at first felt so alien and scary at first and now, almost magically, transformed into a release of so much pent up energy. The pressure was gone, and now she was free to live once more. The pressure was gone.
