Cold metal against my cheek. Steady. It instils a weird sense of calm into my caffeine, tiredness soaked shaking body (I keep on testing espresso as I dial it in, waiting for and craving the giddiness it will bring)
I lean there, for a matter of seconds only. When there is no one to see. No one to know.
A few days before I had to walk off the floor of the shop. Hide on the stairs. My heart thumping. Knowing the time was coming. Knowing there was nothing more to do. Nothing more to say. No more trying. Only honesty left. Living laced with guilt, at loving and not loving.
Inevitable. The threads that tied everything, too strained to cope any longer.
I drift between guilt, and that sadness that only comes from loss...and an unbelieveable lightness that is born out of freedom. Alone. I walk around Canary Wharf past midnight. Knowing it is something I need not explain away...
I'm silly. Playful. All smiles and sunlight. No one would guess...
Then the radio plays a song. I can't seem to catch the lump in my throat.
It's too late, by Carole King.
I look up at the ceiling, making a joke about being soppy.
Soppy... Fuck. I feel like someone has an iron clawed grip around my heart. Breaking me, for breaking him.
His soulmate. I shake my head. Fear or damage. Or just "one of those things" one of those things that occurs when two people think they have something they don't. Or they get complacent. Or. Unable to accept that, that "missing something" will always be missing. No matter how much love exists otherwise.
Or can I simply, not keep loving someone who loves me.
Like some kind of curse perhaps.
Whatever it is. Let it be me who has to hurt.
I can take it.