Death of a Relationship

Venting

Death of a relationship. May sound melodramatic, but in that moment, and minutes, hours, days that pass afterwards"it is mourning. Mourning the death of happiness. Mourning the comfort and ease that memories would provide you, piled up in a room like cushions for you to nuzzle up in when you doze off to sleep or just need time to hide within yourself. It is the room inside your head you escape to when things are rough and you need to know you aren’t alone and loved. But on that day…. You run (frantically)…..jump (for dear life)….fall into the nest of pillows to find shards of glass scratching you. You cannot find comfort in the memories that once brought you so much happiness. (Memories….or scars?)

Happiness. You never know how fleeting it is until someone you cared for and you welcomed in, rips the rug right out from under you and walks away. The click of the door (of finality…no looking back) echoing inside of your head until you go insane. If you’re alone in the woods screaming with no one there to listen…are you actually making a sound? There is no room to hide in for comfort. There are no arms to pick you up and hold your desolate corpse. You are alone. And the only balm that can release you from the staggering pain (hey but who can see the battles raging inside of you, right? You’re doing fine, right? You’re ok?)…..is time. Time will heal you but it will also erase those memories. That happiness. It numbs you. But that’s good right? Erasing the scars that you now find yourself covered in. Fighting an internal battle. Experiencing PTSD from the war raging inside of you that no one sees because they’re too busy staring at their phones or telling you the steps to “getting over it”. Because it’s “happened to everybody.” What if I don’t want to get over it? What if I don’t want the memories to go away? I just want the pain to go away. I don’t want to be angry. But I am angry at the strangers I see playing inside of my head… of the events that happened that now, looking back, cannot be real.

Was it real?  

Reviews

[ANTO]

Hi Molly.
I don't know about finest vent, but it definitely is a fine examination - almost analytical in nature. Cool and collected. I thought venting was about getting the heat out - the term is most likely borrowed from volcanology - volcanoes 'vent' but other times they simmer and broil.
The imagery is very well done - s**t, I can imagine just landing in those pillows expecting comfort only to be inflicted with a thousand cuts.
The surreality of it all - looking back - gave me a lump in my throat.