numbers

two.

two.

that is the number of times you ever called me beautiful, two time in eight months.
the first time we were making out in a field and the second was after the first time we had sex, after you took my virginity and I remember I was more shocked by the words you had just spoke than the act we had just committed because it had been so long since I heard you tell me that.

my thumb and my index finger can mark the number of times you told me I was beautiful.

two.

that is the number of parties I went to with you.

seven.

that’s the number of months I was vegan until I went to your party and ate some shitty homemade pizza and only felt a little bad due to the fact I was higher than the stars I compared you to and I thought maybe you’d be more inclined to get back with me if I was easier to please.

three.

three is the number of months after that party that it took you to realize I was no longer vegan, despite you having been around me before that as I ate whoopie pies and ice cream. it came to you when I offered you a cookie as we stood in the pub ( after I had told you for precisely the eighth time that I was done with you ) and I was tripping on shrooms for the second time and about two hours before you approached me and I asked if you’d like to enjoy a cookie, I had cried in a car about you while someone did coke next to me.

you asked if you could hug me and I replied OF COURSE as if you DESERVED to and I KNEW I shouldn’t have let you because I remembered pain EVERY TIME I was NEAR YOU and I remembered you not talking to me for a month and thinking it was okay to do and I remembered never getting your attention when I needed it most,

I remembered, I remembered, I remembered, I remembered

I remembered how you made my stomach feel like a tidal wave and I remembered how you jammed your hand into my chest and clenched my heart in your callused fist and I remember two months after we broke up, we started talking again and you kept telling me soon, soon, soon, you always had shit to figure out, but soon baby, we’ll be back together

soon

soon my world would spin again, soon my life would have meaning again, soon my stars and planets would be aligned once again but STILL you had your fist gripped tightly around my heart

SOON you’d be over the girl you fucked and fell in love with two weeks after we broke up

SOON not now but SOON you’d be the answer to the nights where I cried myself to sleep

SOON.

but soon never came; not in the way I expected anyways. I always thought that two years and twenty years from now I’d be gone, in a different state and I’d be driving down the road and suddenly break into tears thinking about you and the heartbreak you caused me.

but I broke from your grip. my heart pounded and pounded before it burst and the force finally broke your fist and the tidal waves settled and I’m not in cars with cokeheads anymore and I tell you NO when you ask to hug me now

I AM FREE OF YOU.

my future is free of you.

MY SOON HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU.

and god, it feels so fucking good.