She’s been gone one month now. I miss her so badly. She’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a sister. I wish she was here to share all of those knowing glances and catch me as I roll my eyes at something from across the room. Or how I wish I was there with her, away from all of this. I wish I was exploring the world and creating memories with her.
But I’m not.
I’m here, trapped in this small space – my space… her space - invaded by the sight of them day after day. The two. They sit and mutter at each other about nothing. I know they would rather I not be here, but are too conscious of me and my sensitive nature to ask me to leave (ha!). I have equal right to exist in this space. This is why her bedroom has a door (not that her bedroom gets any use other than a co-habitated sleeping space). But again, they are conscious of me and my sensitive nature… and don’t want to isolate me and risk me feeling lonely, so they choose to sit next to me. This of course only makes things worse.
Knowing what I know, having been told what I’ve been told, this is all a lie. She’s thinking about ending it. Words from her mouth to my ear. Yet day after day she’s with him. He does favours for her. He drives her wherever she wants to go. He plays her games for her. He comes at her beck and call. She’s bored with him. He never has the initiative or creativity to excite her adventurous spirit. Bullocks. From my point of view, she’s using him. It disgusts me. I can’t stand to see them even from the corner of my eye. He’s absolutely clueless. And when she finally does go through with it, I’ll be the first one she comes to. And after it’s over, she’ll try to stay friends with him – and will succeed, because she always gives that hint of a hope that they might go back to being more. And he’ll keep doing favours for her. He’ll answer her calls when something needs fixing. He’ll arrive in his shiny car when she needs to be driven to work.
I wish so badly that I was away from here sometimes. …
