“You did the right thing”, she says. “We weren’t meant to be”, she says.
I understand that it’s time to wrap up this party; I just can’t dwell on the negative feelings anymore.
I realise that it’s over. I mean, I really do. I also realise I am too much of an optimist and I have kept the hope alive, I have kept this thought at the back of my mind. I have secretly hoped that this will end well, like in the movies. You know, when things go wrong for the main character and then there is the climax, but eventually something happens and all sorts itself out happily. The end.
It’s not gonna sort itself out. I see myself as a little blue ball of fire moving around and leaving this fire trace behind me. So what if i close it in on myself. What if I connect the two ends and stop projecting this burning whirlwind around. I’ll project it inside me instead.
I feel an abrupt stomach pain and I have to sit down. A thousand random images rush to my mind, just like they say happens before you die.
Her hands. Hey eyes. Our room. Our trip. Our dance. That little cafe on the corner. Her hands again. How they feel.
Every flashback feels like a muted blow somewhere in the guts of my consciousness, and I know that now is the “Before” and the “After”. Before, when I used to have hope. Before, when I used to have innocence. Before, when I thought that every story has a happy ending.
And after, which starts now.