Honest Fighting Drive

I remind myself that we are not together.

Every car that passed by reminds me of yours. In anticipation, I lower my eyes, watching if you’ll come down. It is that dreadful split-second realization that it is not you that spits me out, urging me to bash my head against the concrete posts across my alley.

I remind myself that we are not together.

Today, I watched you roll away. You did not speed past the gate. You inched your way in reverse. I could not leave; as if the my slippers had joined to the asphalt. Through the top of the gate, I saw the hood of you car crawling out and, for a second, your face lookng back at me.

I remind myself that we are not together.

I walk to my room. I sit down by the bed and take off the special shirt I wore. It smells of my special perfume, it’s old, it’s expensive and I only wear it on special occasions. I splattered some on me right before I met you.

I remind myself that we are not together.

I check my phone. One text from you. I smile.

I remind myself that we are not together.

What disjointed feeling is this, then? I could not reply, not like this, not right now. Perhaps, in an hour or so. Right. The games I play.

I remind myself that we are not together.

I remind myself of what we are, who you are and of who I am. I remind myself of who I was, that awkward high school student, always laughed at, never taken seriously. I remind myself of Mike and how every night he lived with me, I cried. I remind myself of Nathan and how I became the puppet to all his tricks. I remind myself of what I have done since then, all the wounds I have. The naked imperfections mocking me.

I remind myself that we are not together.

Then I feel your voice again. How sweet you were and how comforting your touch was. How we held hands. How when you asked me if I trust you and I said:

“I don’t trust anyone.”

But hours later, while you were asleep, I whispered to you how much I trust you.

Then, I remind myself that we are not together.

But for those moments that we are, I pretend we are together. As I hold you through windows shrouded in blankets, I pretend we are. As I watch you breath while you nap from exhaustion, I pretend we are. And, right now, as I see you rolling away from me, I pretend we are and that tomorrow I’ll see you again and that we’ll laugh and then we’ll kiss (in public, this time) and then I’ll introduce you to my mom and you’ll introduce me to all your friends and this’ll be forever and then —

Then, I remind myself that we are not together.

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CARD DRAWN:

THIS IS THE TAROT CHALLENGE, a 78-day writing challenge where everyday I pick out a random card from my tarot deck and write something about, against, inspired by, based on the card by the day’s end. The works can range from poetry to fiction to drama. When the card is from the major arcana, the title of the work should be the card name. When the card is from the minor arcana, the title can be different but the card drawn should be revealed at the end.