Creative Writing,  My Writing

Burn

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Happy Sunday folks! There is less than a week to go of this blog project and it’s hard to believe that it is almost coming to an end. It’s been a whirlwind that’s for sure. Home stretch time.

‘You built me palaces out of paragraphs, you built cathedrals’

In my head I imagine myself leaving his life as if I were a ghost or something.

Kind of like that thing that happens in music videos and shit like that, he sees me somewhere where we used to go together and convinces himself that I am there by his side and then when he goes to grab my hand or place his hand on the small of my back, I disappear. He turns over in what was once our bed and goes to sling an arm over my waist only for it to fall heavily onto the mattress and for him to get a rude awakening. He makes enough dinner for two people and serves it all up and then goes to call my name only to remember that I am no longer in the house and am not going to come, no matter how loudly he calls my name. He doesn’t sit in my favourite spot in the living room because he is still waiting for me to walk into the room and doesn’t feel like getting into the whole charade of moving seats. He still picks up my favourite things when he goes shopping because at this point it’s second nature to him, sometimes he even gets them all the way home before he remembers that he won’t have any use for them. I imagine him just sort of getting hit with waves of sadness and remembrance that I am not there anymore. Even though I am gone, I am a presence in his life and he can’t do anything about it. He has finally realised what he had, but he only misses it now that it is gone.

That’s how I imagine it.

That’s not the reality of the situation I am almost certain of it.

He probably hasn’t even noticed that I went from being everywhere in that house to non-existent almost overnight. All the things we shared are now half empty, my presence eliminated. He probably sleeps just fine at night, revels in all the extra space that he now has, he doesn’t feel pangs of emptiness that he no longer has someone to spoon with. He has probably let the mess of the whole house escalate to a level that I never would allow, because that was always my responsibility. He’s probably enjoying the fact that he doesn’t have to worry about me waiting at home for him like some kind of idiot. He’s probably making full use of the fact that he is essentially a ‘free man’ for the first time in almost 8 years. No more secrets for him. I am no ghost that is haunting his every moment as he comes to terms with what he’s lost. I’m not even a passing thought to him these days, I would bet money on it.

I thought a clean break would be best for both parties. I don’t think he cared all that much how it went down just so long as it went down. He was a coward like that. He wasn’t happy but he didn’t want to be the one to stick the final nail in the coffin because at some point many years ago he said he would never hurt me. Which is bullshit when you think about it, because I was hurting. For that whole conversation, for months before, now. Hurt was, is, an omnipresent being in my life that he invited in. If he really didn’t want to hurt me then he would have ripped the plaster off and made it quick. But he couldn’t do that.

Doing that would have made him the bad guy, and he can’t stand the thought of being the bad guy. 8 years of being with him pretty much taught me only that. He likes to paint pretty pictures and use his words to create the perfect illusion, the illusion that he is just trying his best to be a good guy and do right by those he cares about. He talks a great game. You can tell he works with words for a living, he is the master of manipulating them. Says exactly what you want to hear, exactly when you want to hear it. He keeps a track of all the things that he says too so he doesn’t get caught out in his own word web of lies. It must actually be exhausting being in his head and having to keep track of all that shit.

We were 21 when he uttered the apparently fateful words ‘I won’t ever hurt you’. I didn’t believe him when he said it and I sure as hell didn’t think that he believed what he was saying. But apparently that sentence is the one that created the foundation of our entire relationship. He lied to me for 7 out of 8 years. Looked me dead in the eyes and lied to me. He kept on lying to me, he never stopped lying to me. And maybe I should have seen through it all, maybe I was naïve in that respect and just believed everything he said because I wanted to. Because it was easier. Because it was all so new and it was just easier to believe that everything was good then think that within 10 months he was already bored of me.

Because that’s the reality of it all. He got bored of me really quickly and then carved some pretty pictures and did enough that it kept me around. It kept people off his back because he gave the illusion of being committed and in love. He played an almost perfect game of charades and I know he would have kept going for as long as he could because he wasn’t going to be the one to hurt me. No, he had his way out. It was the guilt trip. He almost played that one well too.

But he forgot that I wasn’t the 21 year old that he got into this game with all those years ago anymore. Yes, it hurts a bit, but the main reason it hurts is because 8 years is a long time to invest in something and have it not work out.

So while I know that I am not a ghost presence continually appearing and then disappearing in his life, he isn’t a ghost in mine either.

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