I came, I came to you, to your side of the world. And they would not let me through. They kept me imprisoned, held me hostage, drove me to beyond the edges of madness. You breached security, they said. You assaulted a border control officer, they said. You spent a night in jail, they said. You denied all this, of course. You came to see me in that place where they hold people like me, refused entry. I could only see you in a room filled with other humans. Toe-to-toe. I could not sit beside you. You could not hold me. I could not hold you. I cried, sobbed, wailed. And then they sent me back home. And I fear that I shall never see you, touch you, taste you, ever again. I wonder if living in all those waiting moments didn’t just make this all feel more severe. I think I know the answer to that one.
I went home, to your brother. And when I got there, I gaped at the waste-high pile of empty 26 ounce Smirnoff bottles, and realized just how much my choice had shattered him. He loved me more. He always had loved me more than you ever did. But I could not shake the visceral ache for you that left a jagged hole inside me and radiated throughout my entire body and mind. The longer I spent inside my mind, the more desperate I became to rid myself of the pain, to rid myself of myself.
And then you called me. And promised me the moon and the stars. And I believed you, like I always did. And I went to my parents’ place, to wait for you to rescue me, your damsel in distress. I waited. I and my heart, crouched and parched, waited for your summons. I grew anxious. I grew insanely anxious. And you fuelled my insanity with your cold, mean words. And when I closed my eyes I could see the cruel curl of your lips.