The residue from the night before, like the bits of tea leaves that settle to the bottom of the mug, stares blankly back into my blood-shot eyes, evoking not a single thing but a slightly bitter aftertaste. There is no guilt, sympathy, nor apprehension tied to the leftovers of last night. If anything, I’m simply more enlightened as to why things must be the way they are. And in this way, it’s strangely both easier and harder to accept the circumstances. Like making peace with war. Easier because I understand; harder because with this understanding comes a fuller grasp of the heartbreaking tragedy that was - is- you and me.
The remainders from the night before become reminders of our struggles past, each and every one of them that woke me up with the same taste in the morning. And all I can do is remember it, savor it, swallow it, while knowing it serves no purpose. My arms have become too accustomed to holding something, anything, that even the empty feelings of the aftermath keep them happily sore. A burden I willingly bear.
I ask myself what drives me back to you, time and time again. Why I get in a broken vehicle to reach a deserted destination. Yes, it is my unending love for you. The attachment that I can’t deny. Of that I’m sure. And we both make the same mistake of fighting like we have a title, when all we have is the entitlement to, supplied by our history, our past and present love for each other. But what is it that we’re fighting for, now? I’ve never seen you as the antagonist, never seen you on the other side. Even after all was said and done, I fought to keep you close. But I came to realize each morning that your intention is much different than mine.
It is to have the last word, trying to infuse your version of our story into my reality. As if we’re playing tug of war with the words we’d like to use in the final publication of our novel. How disappointing it is that we’re on such different pages, even now. Especially now. I wake up feeling hurt that we’re gone, you wake up feeling dissatisfied that it wasn’t on your terms. But I guess it’s bitter for the both of us.