My mother is upset that I have slept my first night at my father’s house. I suppose the time-share of children between divorced parents doesn’t end; even if that child has completed her college education, and has escaped from two endangered marriage engagements.
Like most tragic experiences, I find I haven’t cried yet. Perhaps there is nothing to cry about. Time away is only that--time away. As I arrived to my new ‘home,’ I immediately fulfilled paperwork needed for my sorority-- a stress I love, so one I suppose I will never give up. As I charged the battery to my phone, friends called pledging their love and support, saying that I was but a call or drive away. Ironically, the person I drove four hours to be away from, was the first to insure I arrived safely to my destination.
Where am I? Comics, have affectionately called this town, a waiting room for hell. I’m four hours away from nothing. The reality is wherever you go, there you are.
I still haven’t cried. Emotion after emotion floods my mind, with only random tangents leaving their impression. On the phone, a relationship between two people I call friends is on the rise, and after nearly dropping the phone from exhaustion, I affectionately explain, I am no one to question on the matters of love.
If the truth were told, my mind is nowhere it should be. I feel I should be hurting, or sad, or at least lonely. But I’m none of these. Not now. Maybe I’ve been all of this way too long, and-- now knowing that I am physically alone—I am quite comfortable with the idea.
Perhaps not. Deep down I’m fighting every urge to make a phone call or send a message to someone, I had no business ever talking too. Even thinking on it now, I smile. I was happy for one night, and I refuse to feel guilty for that. *Sigh. I’ve always had the worst of timing. Be it just my fashion, to find someone a minute early, and not express that till a night too late. Well, the difficulty now lies in knowing, a night can never be stretched out into forever. “It can’t, it’s not supposed to.” Even so, I think everyone always tries to do so—stretch a single moment of happiness till it can’t be stretched any longer.
My mind wanders. Next Wednesday, July 21st, California, Dallas. Am I really trying to see a concert anymore? Or just find an excuse?
I should be crying. Shouldn’t I? Two years can go away so quickly. One storage unit, a few goodbyes, and two tanks of gas. For him, a new car shines so brightly I don’t think he even saw me walk out the door. But I left a long time ago.
Now I’m here, in the waiting room of hell, waiting for the backlash that has already begun. I just never thought I’d be missing everything and everyone but the one I left.
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