I sit on my impossibly squishy couch, back poised and hands nearly soaked with moisture. The feeling is one I am intimate with by now, I only wish it wouldn’t come from someone other than the one who put the ring on my finger. What I tell him is cool and evasive, but inside I’m practically screaming.
It hit me, the moment I realized what he was doing. A weight heavy enough it makes me ache. It’s a strange feeling, looking back. Sitting there, my body fighting the urge to sleep, my muscles tensed, phone in my hand, that thought occurred to me again. Strange describes it perfectly. Strange to think I once had myself figured out. Strange how easily that illusion was shattered, falling down like a stack of glass books, crumbling into a million different pieces too far gone to even offer the slightest bit of comfort. Strange to picture this time just a year ago. Just strange.
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