The year has only just begun, yet overflows with potential
and unavoidable transitions. Some of these transitions have already taken hold,
and where they will release you is unclear, but you know that this time next
year everything will be different. Hopefully, the difference is for the better.
He looks sad from one end of the long apartment.
You’re sad at the other end.
And the space between is heavy and large. It had been
growing behind your backs for years now, growing stronger and more resilient
while you both turned a blind eye, and now it’s too late to try and hack away
at the thick branches that keep you so separated from one another. A giant tree
of disconnect, with too many unspoken feelings that have grown too strong to
tear down.
You’re angry with yourself, mostly, for breaking your own
personal code almost exactly a year ago. Compromising the one thing you’ve
always held with upmost importance—your personal space—was the beginning of the
end.
You look at who you’ve become, so unlike who you’ve always
been. Afraid of driving? Stressed out by the thought of running the simplest of
errands? Who is this person, so crippled by agoraphobia?
Pathetic and silly and grasping for control. Not someone you ever thought you’d
be.
You watch the shoes of all colors and shapes collect on the
floor around you. You watch the dust thicken on the nightstand. You watch the
shoes begin to collect dust and you hate them. You hate that this place has
become so cluttered and neglected, yet you can’t bring yourself to care enough
for a home you feel isn’t really yours. All of the things you once loved to do,
the things that defined you, are not a part of you anymore and you can’t figure
out why that is.
You can’t blame him. How could he know?
For the first time in three years, you finally say the
words you’ve been aching to say in three different households: “I just need to be alone.”
