Hello wonderful human beings. No, I have not forgotten about you, I was just struggling to write anything that didn’t end up being an angry complaint about today’s situation. One of my New Years resolutions was to share more of my work to world, so here is a short story I wrote last year for my creative writing class. I don’t remember what the assignment was exactly, but that no longer matters. So, enjoy and let me know in the comments below what you think of it.
He once told me that it was almost impossible for him to imagine a life without me; how we used to make plans, always so anxious to take the next step.
When he first left, I blamed myself, I thought that if I had loved him more or better, he would have stayed. I spent months wishing he would come back and give me a second chance, imagining that we would be able to solve those problems that were more profound than my lack of orgasms as he achieved an erection, but he never returned. I didn’t want anything more in life than having him. I refused to be happy because he was no longer around.
With time I realized that it hadn’t been my fault, and I’m not saying this to blame him, I’ve just concluded that we wanted different things. For him, it was enough to have someone to undress him on a regular basis. He had a void on his heart that all of the alcohol and tobacco in the world had proven unable to fill. I just wanted someone who wouldn’t give up, someone to love me despite all of my obvious flaws.
I thought that making him happy was enough for him to stay, and I thought that if he stayed it was enough for me to be happy. It took me a while to realize that I couldn’t make him happy, I couldn’t fix him. I couldn’t cure his brother’s cancer, I couldn’t fix his parents’ relationship, I couldn’t make him feel the way he wanted to feel, or perhaps the problem was that I couldn’t stop him from feeling it all. I don’t know, but I wasn’t what he was looking for.
It has been six years now, and it is hard for me to imagine what life would be like if we had stayed together. Neither of us is where we thought we would be, our lives have changed so much. It has been a while since I stopped keeping track of his life, but it wasn’t until a few days ago that I actually understood that it is true that everything happens for a reason. It almost makes me believe that there is in fact a God out there with a greater plan for us.
The thing is that I found one of his old shirts when I was cleaning my room. He gave me several of them when we were going out because he always thought that after making love, he could claim my body by dressing me with something that was his. With time I’ve got rid of them, but I saved one under the pretext that it was comfortable. The truth is that I was clinging to it, to fill the emptiness I felt when he left. It lost all meaning after the years, but I kept it due to the inertia of living a life that seemed familiar.
I was packing a couples of days ago and I found it in the back of my closet with some old jeans that don’t fit me anymore. It smelled bad, like someone had left it in the washing machine and had forgotten to dry it in a long time. I decided to try it on to see if it was as comfortable as I remembered, and it turns out that it is at least three sizes too big. So, I got rid of it.
I guess I could have asked him if he wanted back, but it was such an old shirt. I can’t fathom why someone would want such a thing. It was good that I got rid of it, doing so made me realized that I still carried with me so many ‘what ifs’. There is so much I would have never achieved if I had married him. I am thankful now. He broke my heart and it hurt like fucking hell, but life has a funny way to make art out of pure shit.