I know I didn’t have much but the thought of it all being tossed in the trash brought tears to my eyes. I imagined that was what would happen. I imagined my fluffy white comforter all splattered with dirt and grime. And my clothes being carelessly tossed in heaps into the giant, metal trash container that always smelled like rotten eggs and dirty tampons. And that necklace, would it end up in the landfill and lost forever?
I pulled myself out of those thoughts. It wasn’t like it mattered all that much now because I would be gone and I would never know.
I tried to remember more happy things. For some strange reason, I felt the need to search out some point where I had been worthy of this life. What had I done that was so good?
It was painful to realize that I couldn’t come up with one single thing.
Sure, there were times that I organized charity dinners. And while they did bring in some money to whatever organization we were supporting, the people that went to those things weren’t there because they cared. It was never about raising awareness and helping. It was all about image and keeping up the appearance that just because you had money didn’t mean you didn’t give back to the community in some way.
It was sick.
And so horribly sad that I hadn’t seen it all while I was in the thick of it. I had been one of those people. I never got my hands dirty and I never really thought about the people that the money went to help.
This was the moment that most people would have begged God for a chance to change, or so I imagined. Vowing that they would right all their wrongs if they could just get out of whatever situation they were in. Perhaps, I should have done that even if I wasn’t all that sure about God.
Instead, I thought about the man that made me feel like I had been worthy of so much more than I was.
Bryan.
If only…
What?
If only I could have had the courage to tell him all the things I had felt for him? Let him know how his touch made me feel safe and warm? Told him that his lips were addictive and his kisses made me feel more alive than I had ever before?
Would it have even made a difference?
Or was it better that I had kept my mouth shut?
This way he would never know and what we had would remain something so shallow. Something he could forget about quickly.
And that led me to thinking about just how fast he would move on from thoughts about me.
Only, I didn’t want to believe that I meant that little to him. Maybe we hadn’t said it out loud, but there were moments I saw more in his eyes. I had thought it was best to ignore it but maybe I had been completely wrong.
Fear gripped me so tightly. Fear that this was the end for me and I would fade away with so many loose strings blowing in the breeze.
I cried, I did.
Because I was weak.
With as hard as I sobbed, I would’ve bet that the thin stream of tears could have made a river if I hadn’t been so dehydrated. I imagined myself drowning in them then, at least if I could then this would all be over.
