And somehow?—
Somehow—
It’s the same girl who folds my laundry and memorizes how I take my coffee.
That’s the part that kills me.
If she were just awful?
Easy.
If she were just mean?
Easy.
If she were just unstable all the time?
Easy.
But she’s not.
She’s both.
She’s the warmest person I’ve ever known.
And the one person quietly dismantling my life behind my back.
Two completely different women.
Same face.
Same voice.
Same hands.
How the fuck do you leave someone like that?
Which one are you even leaving?
A bus hisses to a stop in front of me.
People get off. People get on.
Nobody looks at me twice.
And I sit there bent over like some guy who just got dumped instead of some guy realizing his girlfriend might actually be watching him.
Monitoring him.
Controlling him.
My throat burns.
Because the truth is?—
I’m not scared of her.
Not really.
