the insanity, the intimacy

i don’t know what it is about sadness that makes me feel invincible.

he is always so fucking drunk, and i am always so quiet and bitter. two more weeks until this apartment becomes mine. two weeks until his junk is out and i can paint, and move furniture around, and become whole again. because right now, i am anything but. i am a skeleton of a little elle that is no longer. i am always okay until i hear his keys in the door, and i smell the liquor on his breath, and the nicotine in the seams of his denim jacket. i am okay until then because i don’t have to think of the blue of his bloodshot eyes, or how tight his arms feel around my ribs when he hugs me, still, despite all of this.

he took me for breakfast on saturday. the sun was hot and i wore a really feminine dress paired with my doc martens. “you look pretty”, he said, “and i’m not just saying that”. he zipped my dress to the top, and said “come on, i’m paying”. we walked quietly to our favourite breakfast place. a quiet, dim bar with waitresses who know our faces- who served us full pitchers of 50 in the beginning of our relationship. i wasn’t really hungry at all… nervously playing with my spoon. “this break up… it isn’t normal. but you’re my best friend”, he said.

i know

we walked to the book bazaar and i bought some rare book on paintings and photographs from WW2… classified until 1978. my brother was coming back from paris and i knew this book would be perfect for his birthday, and dan let me buy it for him even though he wanted it for himself. “no no… you buy it. he’ll love this”

i know. i knew he would. and he did.

things were so wishy-washy until last night- when he finally told me he’d be leaving june 6th. i knew it was happening, and i knew i’d have to deal with it eventually, but having a set date just makes it so much more real. there’s no turning back, and he is really leaving me, and i have to be okay with that.

i was really angry when i woke up this morning. my alarm went off for the fourth or fifth time and i heard dan get up in the room next to ours. he came into the bedroom and started cracking jokes, nudging me to get out of bed and shower for work, putting his feet in my face until i smiled. i pulled the blanket over my head and groaned, “uuuuuuugh worst wake up call ever”. he smiled and kept laughing. when i finally peeled myself from our sheets he stood in front of the door with his arms out. “i don’t care if i smell like shit, hug me!”

and so i did.

i hugged him and felt his arms tighten around my waist and heard him breathe me in like he always does. i feel it in my gut, when he hugs me. that he isn’t just holding on because that’s how hugging is done, he grasps a little tighter, and tighter, until i let go. and then so does he.

i rushed around in my towel as he played video games in the living room. “gotta win the cup, babe!” he always says. i kneeled over to pull some clean tights out of the dryer, and as i looked up he was just … staring at me.

“the cat knows what’s going on, you know. he’s really upset”

i know.

i don’t know where to go from here… we are either endlessly angry with one another, or still so close it stings. either way i need to shake this familiarity because he will be gone in exactly thirteen days.

thirteen days.

i’m devastated and excited in equal measure. and the idea of feeling those extremes with regard to the man i am in love with makes me sick to the pit of my very own stomach.

thirteen days.

then what?

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