Litkicks Message Board Archive

sketch of a wordless goodbye

The weight of knowing I had made the wrong decision rested heavily upon me, backed up by the soundtrack of thunder growling a dark bass tune outside the bedroom. Lightning danced quick flickers of light against the windows, turning the room into daylight for a second or two, then plunging me back into the darkness, into the thunder, into the place where I was. The place I shouldn’t have been.

He slept soundly beside me. His face was relaxed into the peace of deep slumber, and he was beautiful then. Mouth slightly open as he breathed a gentle rhythm against the harshness of the thunder outside. Had it been a tender moment, I would’ve stretched my body alongside his and straightened his tousled hair with my fingertips. Instead I sat uncomfortable, knees drawn tightly to my chest, alternating my view between him and the ragged hem on the curtains.

I’d done it again. Let myself be pulled by him into a dialogue of skin, knowing the whole time in the back of my mind that this conversation wouldn’t matter. My fingers fumbled through the dark for my half-empty pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. I lit one and curled further into myself, staring at the strangely comforting orange glow at the tip, and thinking about sunrise. Daylight, when words would become everything and seeking hands and questing mouths would again mean nothing.

We’d tried to turn this ending into a beginning too many times to keep trying. The storm outside had stopped, and I could feel that the air had let go of the oppressiveness it had been hanging onto. I let out a long, slow breath and decided that I didn’t want to want him anymore.

He shifted in his sleep. There was no clock in the room, but I could feel morning coming. He shifted again, and I could tell he’d be waking up soon. But I’d already be gone.