I sit in a stranger’s apartment. My clothes are hung over the shower to dry. I just walk back and forth not knowing where to rest. At least I am out of the rain. I have found temporary shelter from the tropical storm but not from my emotions.
A week of intuition told me there was something wrong but I placed it to the side as paranoia. As I stood huddled under an awing outside the liquor store where my thoughts were not only confirmed but also laid out in front of me without regard. My old neighborhood, the one I long for along with the simplicity of prior months in all ways, was the setting for the cliché’ ending to the relationship which caught me so off guard in the first place.
After the conversation I just walked and let the monsoon fall down upon me hoping it would take to the earth my heartache with the rainfall. Hope for the disbelief to be washed away in the gutter with the pools of water. I walked to shelter and felt no relief, I walked towards the bus to have it pull away at my approach, I rode another bus only to get off again, another subway to get away from the pain. A familiar face handed me keys to pull it together. I walked to the building and walked six flights not realizing I had taken a single step.
Now I lay awake in my bed not believing what I have been told, wondering what it all means, allowing myself to hurt before closing the heart up once again.
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