This story is old, I know but it goes on


He was at the angry stage of the breakup mourning.  Not so much angry at her for leaving, more angry at himself.  Over a month had passed and he could not shift the sadness that soaked him.  Night time was still that horrible minefield of lying down in an empty bed and hoping his brain would not spring awake.  Yet every night it did, reminding him of missed opportunities, some years old.  Bringing every insecurity into sharp focus, making them seem larger than they actually are.  Possible future conversations would play out in his mind in glorious surround sound, each one starting positive and ending on a dark note.

He needed to get a full nights sleep.

He needed to be held and told that it will all be ok.

That seemed so far away.

So nights would start in his bed, his body bruised and battered by tiredness.  That would last for as long as he could stand the active mind yapping away.  Then he would retire to the kitchen and smoke, listen to music and hope to tire the brain out that way.  There used to be drink added to that cocktail but that had stopped dulling the mind enough and just left him feeling drunk and emotional.  He had lost count of the amount of messages he had typed to various people in this state and then deleted without sending them.  He knew that had been the right decision, every single time.

He had not cried since she had left.  He almost had as he hugged her goodbye but since then, no tears had come.  The pain of an ice cream headache would just sit there, behind his eyes and remind him that he was human.  The lack of sleep had dulled almost everything else.  The crying was surely some part of the grieving process and yet no matter what happened, he could not start.

Listening to sad songs was hindering rather than helping.  Playing a selection on repeat while he stood smoking had gotten him close a couple of times.  Yet just when his body shuddered as if ready to release all that emotion, something stopped him.

That was what he was angry about most of all.

He surveyed the living room and knew that having so much that reminded him of her was not helping, but he also knew that it would take time for her to move everything out.  When he did start to pack items away, the sadness descended over him like a shroud and he had to stop, go have a cigarette and think of something else.  Sadness without tears is horrible.

Time was moving on and he was getting left behind.

This had to change

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