Words are therapy

By on_deck

Breathe in. Slow. Slower.

Slow down the time. Slow down the three years that have passed. So much time, so much done.

Take the first five months of bliss and count them as the best time of your life. The kisses in the fields at lunch, the hour long phone calls, the day long instant messaging. Joy and ignorance grow into something wonderful, a piece of time immortalized behind glass windows. Only after those windows are put up do you realize it wasn’t true.

Add one breakup, four months of dirty looks, and two emails telling her to “fuck off”, and you get the total heartbrokenness of a 15 year old girl, regretting ever having sent the email that said she wasn’t ready for a serious relationship. The moment two months ago that she corrected him after he said his summer departure wasn’t worth her tears, that he wasn’t that important, seemed to be only a moment of acted-upon passion. That was too far away now. His growing anger and cynicism was the direct result of his own heartbreak.

Add one kiss late at night before Thanksgiving departures, and nine months hand holding, smiles, tokens of affection, and simple pleasures, and you get the reunion of the two that must have been meant-to-be. His cold winter months of snow plowing were warmed by her daily hot chocolate. He helped her make it through their junior World History class, she spell checked his English papers. They fused into the center of a group whose bond tightened moment by moment. Though make-out spots were far and few in-between, they found them, and they never got caught.

Then she gave things up for him. Her innocence was compromised by a disguised “love”. Add jealousy and argument, and you get a second breakup. When they arrived back at the secluded boarding school a week later, she didn’t know how to act, or what to think. The Senior Survival retreat came quickly, and when he asked for a favor of sorts, she was ready to oblige, anything that would get them together again. But the once innocent girl only became confused when, even though she did what he asked, he still wouldn’t look at her in public, at least not the way he use to. As all fell asleep the final night of the retreat, she silently rummaged through her bag, looking for her razor. Family and friends did not come to mind, only the pain that he had caused her. To be rid of the heartache, of the silence, would be enough.

But she could not find the small, silver weapon. Though it was missing, the darkness did not end there. Even so, the greatest lesson the earth teaches us is that as long as we can make it through the night, we will feel the warmth of the sun again. Though day and night pass, the darkness no longer seems so dark, and perhaps the sun lends a little more light to the moon than it used to.

Breath out. Slower. Stop.

Words are therapy

Created: Jul 28, 2010


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