You left and you never came back. Our bridges weren't burnt, we didn't scream at each other, we didn't say words that we could never take back. We didn't say anything at all. Our life together was interrupted by happenstance, something cosmic that neither of us could control. I didn't slam a door in your face, you didn't tell me to get out and never come back.
We think of each other leaving, we think of choices we've made to leave each other, driven by some infernal anger tied together with love that we simply couldn't control. We think of every choice we've had to make. Choices that were handed down to us, choices we were forced to make. Kill some. Spare some. Never give up. Or do, and let the world go to hell.
We didn't get to make this choice. The world went to hell anyway. I go to sleep and you're gone. I wake up and you're gone. You're not in heaven, you're not in hell, you're not on Earth. You're elsewhere, elsewhere and I can't find you. Elsewhere and I'm somewhere. Somewhere between the beginning and the end of this bottle. Closer to the end. Somewhere between the bullet through my skull and the rope around my neck. And I wonder. I wonder if I'll ever see you again. Will I end up where you are? Or will I move to the last stage, the death stage, the this-time-it's-final stage, and still be hidden from you. I wonder. Can you see me? Are you looking?
I know you must miss me. Maybe not everything about me. Maybe not the way we fought, fists clenched, bloodied, on the floor, cursing each other. But definitely the way we made up, holding each other like if we let go we would fall off the Earth, my hands in your hands to remind each other we're in this together. Never letting go because we found ourselves in each other. How do I find myself now?
I don't. I'm lost. I'm broken. Worst of all, I'm alone. My only comfort is knowing we're both alone⦠which brings us together, in some way. I'm not alone in being alone. Because of you, I never was.
So this is it, I guess. Our goodbye is no goodbye. I'd rather have the screaming. I'd rather slam a door in your face, leave you bloody on the ground cursing me under your breath, telling me to never come back. Because that time, I could come back. You were pissed and hurt, I was sorry, more sorry than anything. But I came back.
How do we come back this time?
