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i wondered what would happen if i saw her, if i lost her, if my whole self was bundled against her and everything went out of sight, all fuzzy and what my mom used to call “warm”. Everything looked different, even her, even me, and yet the room remained at a standstill between us laying on top of each other on a bare mattress on the floor, to dusty old boxes with the words “miscellaneous” spelt with a worn out black marker. At what point did i lose her, and at what point did i finally realize my loss. I think she was gone before the relationship ended, i’d like to think that she must have been… that i had failed before she let it die, that I had not noticed a slight change in her voice, that we had both lost and she and him had not won… or maybe… I don’t like to picture her on top of him. I tell my mind “stop” and put my hands over my ears and close my eyes tightly but that only makes it worse. Gives it more room to expand, to trace the insides of my nerve endings with moans not meant for me and images he now gets to keep. And how dare he get to keep it, how dare he get to keep… like that picture of us, in Washington, she posted next to her bed as if it meant something. Wake up next to me but lie down with him… she didn’t even have the decency to take it with her. i get to keep it instead. i get to watch it gather dust in some box i’d like to name “regret” but instead scribble down with a half hearted marker the bittersweet and most hateful word “miscellaneous”. “fuck you” i’d rather write or some poetical “all the pieces of me you decided not to keep” because how dare she get to keep so much of me, how dare she get to keep… I look down at the laminate flooring and it feels as if my heart has fallen through some fake wood planks and into the second floor apartment. It feels like I’m slowly swinging back and forth as I stand there, I feel like I’m going to throw up, I feel like I can’t feel anything. I just stand there and stare at the floor, I wonder what she’s doing… I think of her eating waffles and I think of what I meant to her if it didn’t mean anything to leave. I can’t feel my hands, not really, I hear a buzzing noise and an annoying fan sound coming from the vent. I picture everything gone, including me. I picture empty space and someone else’s kitchen table where ours used to be, i picture someone’s stupid target wall art where our love used to be. i wish i couldn’t picture it. i wish i couldn’t picture anything. So instead i picture her, right in front of me, just for a moment, to block it all out.

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