Again

I sat on the cold snowy bench finally allowing myself to feel it all yet it was as though the cold numbed everything away. As much as I let my tear ducks relax my face remained dry. Even in complete defeat, my body found a way to fight against me. Still, I let the cold scold my legs through my jeans till they burned and my fingertips felt purple. I let everything fly across my mind and yet also let it stay blank. Finally, one tear released and sat on my cheek.

One losey tear.

How pathetic.

I wiped my face as I chuckled at myself. Not in a humorous way, but in the way you do when everything just keeps going wrong and the only thing you can do is cry or laugh. And well I couldn’t cry so, minus well laugh at myself. I stood back brushing the snow that stuck to my legs off and walked a few feet as I collected myself and took in a deep breath…

One, two, three, four…release

Hold one, two, three, four…

Inhale - One, two, three, four…hold.

I repeated my breathing exercise until I felt some form of calmness wash over me. I cleared my throat, picked up my phone, and called my father back.

“Hi dad, yeah I got your voicemail. I, er, I’ll come up to tomorrow, but just me.” I held my breath as I awaited his reply. I could already hear the disappointment in his breathing.

Finally, he answered, “Okay, fine. Let me know if he changes his mind.”

“Yeah...yeah I will. Love you, bye.” I quickly hit the end button before returning to my bench. Just a few more moments and I’ll head back.

A few more stolen moments of letting the hurt wash over me and the cold numb it away before I take the walk back home.

Home.

Where an unfinished fight lingered. Where the said words still had burn marks running down each of our faces yet the unsaid words seemed to be screaming louder. I already knew I didn't want to pick up where we left off when I got home. I already accepted the defeat of it all. I knew it was no use in wasting my breath running into a concrete wall. Especially one that already had my imprint embedded in it.

Yet, I knew deep in my soul it would leave a lasting mark to bury it and act happy...again.

To pretend as though the fight didn’t happen and have a normal conversation. Again.

Act like I didn’t storm out leaving the echo of a door slam. Act like I wouldn't remember his lack of remorse even as he watched me break down and rivers cascade down my cheeks. Again.

I just don’t think I can continue to be an actress with a heart of steel.

And yet I knew I would.

I’d walk in and Dylan would be sitting there just where I left him on the couch. Most likely with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, leaving smoke clouds to chase me down.

For a moment it would feel as though we were two magnets with opposite ends facing each other. But only for one moment before he started rambling about the TV show or something unimportant and I would follow into the emotionless conversation. Letting it all go.

Again.

Then tomorrow I would wake up and get ready to go visit my parents to help them finish moving into yet another new house. Dylan would kiss me goodbye and tell me to drive safely and to let him know when I got there. You know the typical caring boyfriend things. Of course, I would say and call love you over my shoulder as I made my way to my car. Once I sat into the seat I would pull up some sad playlist and cry almost the entire way there. But just when there were 15 minutes left of the drive, I would pull it together to let the red puffiness leave my eyes. Let the red rash that broke out across my chest disappear.

And that’s exactly what happened when I left my bench...yet again.