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Chapter 18
Phoebe
29.9511° N, 90.0715° W New Orleans, LA + 43.0962° N, 79.0377° W Niagara Falls, NY
Ihatedyoumostthen.
I wanted to protect the sun from your glow when you smiled so bright. Were you unaffected by the heartbreak you caused me, or was it all for the show? Either way, it was working. I believed every word. You were vital to me then, posting pictures with stupid sayings of living your best life at a distance across states. I couldn’t care less you thought you were victorious at this moment. I fucking managed you decided I wasn’t good enough to belong to a similar brand.
I am hiding in plain view most of the time, waiting on you to notice I am a phone call away. A touch away from leaving and loving you. The torture doesn’t stop; it electrifies my being to be good enough for you. But fuck, it’s so hard I finally fucked up enough to come to the epiphany it isn’t me, Enzo, it’s you.
You aren’t good enough for yourself, and we’ve been exhausting ourselves for years trying to prove you wrong. But at some point, you wake up, and your battle armor is dented. Your sword doesn’t slash as sharp, and that voice of doubt starts talking; you let it, because what the hell, you haven’t given it a chance in a while. But then it isn’t doubt; it starts to speak the truth.
You’ve been fighting a battle you can never win. I don’t know if I can go down with the ship this time. I might jump over before we all drown.
Before I know what I am doing, I grab a pen and spill the contents of my heart.
Tell me how lonely the world can be.
I’m standing in a constant crowd. Whether they know it or not, I am the center, they go around me, and it isn’t until I turn that I realize I’ve done it again.
Gotten lost in the moments, memories of the past.
I forgot where I was going, but here I am.
I am sure I’m late, to wherever I am supposed to be right now. But I don’t care.
All I keep wanting to do is go home. Which is strange because I never wanted to be there before.
But I can’t move. I can’t think past my next breath.
Four sirens have passed me on the street. Does anything matter?
How long have I been standing here?
Maybe not long.
Someone would have said something, wouldn’t they have?
Do strangers ignore the pain on my face because they can’t bear the weight?
But tears fall down my cheeks, and I am not embarrassed; I don’t know these people. I’m just sad, so fucking let me be sad.
I blinked a few times, clearing my vision before I spotted a liquor store down the road. I wipe my tears, and I head in that direction. I’m not drowning my sorrows with alcohol. My sufferings have been forcing me under since I left Brazil. There is no safety vest or lifejacket that fits the size of my grief.
My journal is lined with words I won’t ever admit to saying, especially to you.
I didn’t know where you went. It could have been a paradise of prison. It had been years, and now you held a toddler in your arms. I guess Kassidy had another baby you wanted to be a father to.
You were wild and free; I was barely courageous, coming out of turmoil. The east coast never saw this version of me before. But the first step off the plane, there I was. You were blunt, your accent catchy, and you raised hell again when all I was introduced to believe was in heaven that didn’t exist for people like me.
I wish there was a reason we weren’t talking like you did something, and I could be mad. But there isn’t a tragedy; there is no drama, no goodbyes. Just unanswered phone calls and forgotten text messages, a gap of whose turn to connect. We just kept moving on, like we were supposed to.
There is no chance of accidentally bumping into each other. A meet and greet taken to the extremes, one always planned but never comes to life.
I cry every time you say my name. It might be the last goodbye I get. I would take it over your silence, your rocky effort of not knowing how to give a proper farewell.
So you just let the space distance be the example and do the talking. How terribly inconvenient for you to feel our heartbreak for what it really is, the death of present love.
