Forget Me Not
2010
He’s been gone for four weeks now but it seems like eternity to me... Never before have I felt so lonely, so vulnerable... I wait for a call, a sign, something that proves that he is thinking of me like I am thinking of him... Walking laps around the house unable to gather my thoughts into something coherent.
I had fallen sick the day he left. He came around; bid me farewell, held me close to his heart and said words which unleashed a torrent of tears that seeped in to his shirt. My weak body shook in his supporting arms. Unable to speak, I said nothing.
He left.
Now invisible ropes tighten around my chest forcing a gasp from my dry lips. If only I had been able to say those few words I may not be seeing what I am now. I lick my lips, tasting salt dried from my tears. The knowledge of him I had desired has arrived... but it isn’t what I had wanted to see; pictures of smiling faces, good times and his hand around hers. They circulated cyberspace for all to see. Did he forget me so quickly when I wasn’t there? My mind a blur, I type, hoping that he will reply... this time. I let the questions flow, my suspicions, my fear, my heart.
I wait.
As I walk I am surrounded by the greenery of summer but I don't notice. I am surrounded by my friends yet I feel so alone. They laugh and play but all I see, like a flashlight in the dark, is the lovers. He holds her close and smiles down at her, steals a kiss or two. I can’t look away. My shallow breaths press against my lungs and the scene becomes a watercolour painting. I try to disappear in to the backdrop of a romantic movie.
He had told me there was nothing going on, they were only friends. At the airport I watch the door through the masses of people all like me; waiting. My best summer dress hangs from my shoulders; maybe he will see me and remember what he used to say; “beautiful”. The white walls, floors, ceilings all merge except for that door ahead, the end of the tunnel. Now I see him. I have to look twice but it is him... and her.
My stomach drops.
Why did he have to come out with her? I watch as my gut twists and my heart tries to tear itself clean from chest to be crushed on the cold floor. I watch as they hug and farewell each other in a way that is suspiciously friendly. He sees me, or is it his mother standing by my shoulder waving, completely oblivious? He pushes through the crowd, his luggage bag squealing as it rolled along the ground behind him. He just stands there. I wait for him to come to me.
He doesn’t.
I just stare at him dumbfounded; he finds it hard to even look at me for more than a few seconds. The image in my head of him dropping his bags, unaware of anything or anyone else, to throw his arms around me is sucked up by the black hole forming in my chest. Overcome by emotions, I am confused what to do. I know which action I prefer however. I walk across the vast space that has formed between us and slip my arms around his waist leaning my head on his shoulder. He is warm just like he was before but something just doesn’t seem right. Almost mechanically, like it was programmed in to his system, he wraps his one free arm around my shoulders. Then we are apart and walking across the car park under the blaring sun. We walk side-by-side but his hand doesn’t reach for mine. I thought of the picture on the internet; perhaps he wished for hers.
Then it starts; the fights, the names, the blame-game. No matter how much I cry or tell him how much I had hurt when he hadn’t replied to my messages, or how I couldn’t breathe when I saw them together, he can’t give her up. Do guys hold the hands of their female friends? Can guys and girls ever only be friends? Truly? Was I the one in the wrong? There are so many questions that can’t be answered. In the end he wins. I don’t have any fight left in me. I have been eaten up and spat out over and over again. When I gave him my heart in years past I didn’t think that it would be stuffed in his back pocket but I realize now that it still belongs to him. I have to trust him. I believe he didn’t want her but I’m not sure I can say the same about her. That picture is locked in the back of my head where it can’t hurt me anymore.
I was wrong.
Over and over that picture tortures me. Can’t she just leave us alone? He keeps defending her, says I’m wrong, the words appearing on the glaring screen like a knife in my gut. I have learnt that the worst thing to think is that I am wrong, that what I’m feeling is wrong. I have learnt that the worst thing to do is ignore myself, let them have their way because this will just keep on happening. I can’t escape it. The game of Life keeps sending me back to the beginning until I pass this level; I’ve got to do something.
He comes around. This time he is the one crying.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he says.
“You won’t.”
“I love you.”
“I know. I love you too.”
The line between trust and doubt is very fine so when he loves you be sure he will not forget.
- Scarlett Van Dijk
I had fallen sick the day he left. He came around; bid me farewell, held me close to his heart and said words which unleashed a torrent of tears that seeped in to his shirt. My weak body shook in his supporting arms. Unable to speak, I said nothing.
He left.
Now invisible ropes tighten around my chest forcing a gasp from my dry lips. If only I had been able to say those few words I may not be seeing what I am now. I lick my lips, tasting salt dried from my tears. The knowledge of him I had desired has arrived... but it isn’t what I had wanted to see; pictures of smiling faces, good times and his hand around hers. They circulated cyberspace for all to see. Did he forget me so quickly when I wasn’t there? My mind a blur, I type, hoping that he will reply... this time. I let the questions flow, my suspicions, my fear, my heart.
I wait.
As I walk I am surrounded by the greenery of summer but I don't notice. I am surrounded by my friends yet I feel so alone. They laugh and play but all I see, like a flashlight in the dark, is the lovers. He holds her close and smiles down at her, steals a kiss or two. I can’t look away. My shallow breaths press against my lungs and the scene becomes a watercolour painting. I try to disappear in to the backdrop of a romantic movie.
He had told me there was nothing going on, they were only friends. At the airport I watch the door through the masses of people all like me; waiting. My best summer dress hangs from my shoulders; maybe he will see me and remember what he used to say; “beautiful”. The white walls, floors, ceilings all merge except for that door ahead, the end of the tunnel. Now I see him. I have to look twice but it is him... and her.
My stomach drops.
Why did he have to come out with her? I watch as my gut twists and my heart tries to tear itself clean from chest to be crushed on the cold floor. I watch as they hug and farewell each other in a way that is suspiciously friendly. He sees me, or is it his mother standing by my shoulder waving, completely oblivious? He pushes through the crowd, his luggage bag squealing as it rolled along the ground behind him. He just stands there. I wait for him to come to me.
He doesn’t.
I just stare at him dumbfounded; he finds it hard to even look at me for more than a few seconds. The image in my head of him dropping his bags, unaware of anything or anyone else, to throw his arms around me is sucked up by the black hole forming in my chest. Overcome by emotions, I am confused what to do. I know which action I prefer however. I walk across the vast space that has formed between us and slip my arms around his waist leaning my head on his shoulder. He is warm just like he was before but something just doesn’t seem right. Almost mechanically, like it was programmed in to his system, he wraps his one free arm around my shoulders. Then we are apart and walking across the car park under the blaring sun. We walk side-by-side but his hand doesn’t reach for mine. I thought of the picture on the internet; perhaps he wished for hers.
Then it starts; the fights, the names, the blame-game. No matter how much I cry or tell him how much I had hurt when he hadn’t replied to my messages, or how I couldn’t breathe when I saw them together, he can’t give her up. Do guys hold the hands of their female friends? Can guys and girls ever only be friends? Truly? Was I the one in the wrong? There are so many questions that can’t be answered. In the end he wins. I don’t have any fight left in me. I have been eaten up and spat out over and over again. When I gave him my heart in years past I didn’t think that it would be stuffed in his back pocket but I realize now that it still belongs to him. I have to trust him. I believe he didn’t want her but I’m not sure I can say the same about her. That picture is locked in the back of my head where it can’t hurt me anymore.
I was wrong.
Over and over that picture tortures me. Can’t she just leave us alone? He keeps defending her, says I’m wrong, the words appearing on the glaring screen like a knife in my gut. I have learnt that the worst thing to think is that I am wrong, that what I’m feeling is wrong. I have learnt that the worst thing to do is ignore myself, let them have their way because this will just keep on happening. I can’t escape it. The game of Life keeps sending me back to the beginning until I pass this level; I’ve got to do something.
He comes around. This time he is the one crying.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he says.
“You won’t.”
“I love you.”
“I know. I love you too.”
The line between trust and doubt is very fine so when he loves you be sure he will not forget.
- Scarlett Van Dijk