ProseXpiecE Well, it's been three days now, almost four. I can't believe she really left. It's not that i didnt see it coming, i just didnt think about it happening so fast. But reality moves at whatever pace it's gonna move at. In other words, shit happens. Yup. She's gone. I did a little work rearranging the house. Tried to make it a bit cheerier. Opened some windows. Let a little sunshine in. Seems to be good for the spirit. Bought a 24 pack on saturday. It's tuesday and I still have a few beers left. I guess that's kinda admirable. Or exactly right, i mean, a six pack lasts me one night. So a case should last me four. Looks like it' s gonna serve its life with perfect punctuality. But yeah. She's really gone. Right now I'm in that moment you look forward to right after you break your ankle. You're standing there, the bottom of your leg bent at some godawful angle, and you see a newly developed goal on the horizon. You long for the moment you're at home, the wound has been cared for, and you're on whatever dope you need to use to deal with the pain. Numb. Injured, but cared for and disconnected from the gruesome reality of it all. A fucking broken bone, that's some intense shit. That's why it seems so appropriate to call it a break up. Shit's smashed all to pieces on the floor. She's really gone, she ain't coming back. Last night, people kept buying me shots. I said "if you see me texting, make sure i'm not texting her." I started texting her, and someone asked me if i was doing what they thought i was doing. I said yep. He said is that a good idea? And I said, fuck no, but I don't care. I cared a lot this morning though. She had asked me to stop, and I kept going. Not cool. That's a pretty big dick move there. I texted her some kind of mean things, mildly accusatory. They were all true, but the context was most likely wrong, both in the story and in my drunken delivery. At the time I felt justified. She had walked out on me. She left me with the literal pieces of our relationship to attend to. To clean up, rearrange, pack away. Very literal things. That's why, tonight, with a renewed spirit, I have decided I no longer regret those texts. they were all I had left. They were the last little bits of my hostility, my conjecture, my self- deprication. They were my last chance to stand on a box and scream out my feelings. Last communication. *writing to deal with some personal shit, this place has always been my go to whenever i'm writing a lot