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Thoughts After Us

The obsessive cycle we get into when a relationship ends and they are gone.

By Katherine CollinsPublished 6 years ago 4 min read
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Photo by Thư Anh on Unsplash

I wonder if you are listening to the same songs to get over me. When I look over at the Spotify side bar, will I see that you were listening to Tash Sultana 7 minutes ago? And will I wonder where you were listening to Tash Sultana? Do you have headphones in at the supermarket, or are you spread out at the foot of your bed, bathing in her melodic melancholy like me?

Speaking of supermarkets, I know which one you go to. The same one where I buy ice cream. I scan every car in the parking lot looking for yours, and I can't tell if I want it to be there or not. Would I be excited to see you again or scared? A city can get so small after a break up. And I think I have to find another place that sells non-dairy ice cream.

So I drive across the highway to the Whole Foods and blast Drake. I used to "just listen" to Drake. But now I feel Drake. The way you felt Drake. You made certain mainstream things seem cool like I never could. The one thing you couldn't pull off was a text message break up.

When I got the message, I beelined for your apartment. I sped home, grabbed your sweatshirt that I sleep in from my bed and slammed my front door behind me, making the rest of the way to your apartment. I felt like breaking up in person. I didn't want to stop you, or change your mind, but understand you and let you see what you are letting go. I wanted to break up together. So we talked and you explained, and I listened and confidently cried in front of you.

I told you that I wouldn't judge you if you continued to watch my instagram story, because I wanted to watch yours. I told you it's okay to miss me, because I'll miss you. Every memory I have of you flooded my mind and rang like church bells, incessant and glorious. I was searching for something to say, something to be my last words to you. But I had nothing and, at the same time, too much to say. So I slipped out of your embrace and walked out without looking back.

I wonder if you have already avoided me in public? I wonder if you think of me at night when I could have been lying next to you? Do you remember my smell or how I liked to sleep? I haven't been sleeping well lately.

Now I spend my nights staring blankly at the pillow next to me, reclaiming everything we shared as my own. All my possessions hold memories of you that I can't shake. A movie you made fun of, a perfume you liked, a skirt I wore on our anniversary, a bag I bought to take on our trip, a shirt you left here and I purposefully did not give back. I can't bring myself to cleanse these reminders, I can't imagine living without your memory because I don't want to live without you. The worst one of all is a small rope bracelet.

This small rope bracelet is threaded with emotion and thought of you and heavy with reminder of the highs of our relationship. We won two rope bracelets at the toy counter of the arcade where we played ski ball and air hockey all night. They are black and orange and tacky in a fashionable 90s way. It's a bracelet one would wear as a 9 year old and then never again. But we won two of them, and put them on in the car as a joke. Proudly displaying our arcade trophies. But then days, weeks went by...and neither of us removed our rope bracelets. They had a habit of coming loose and were prone to slipping off, but we tightened them and separately wore them as a reminder of the other. One day, you called this out: how we both never took off the bracelets from the arcade and I nodded and you said it was nice. And that's all I needed.

I never took that bracelet off. I noticed yours was gone about a week before you sent me the text. I mentioned it and you said it kept slipping off and that it was in your car. I talked myself out of making that a big deal. But then it was over and I had to take off my bracelet for my own well being. But I still have it. I've saved it. And I stare at it and I wish I could stop.

This uncontrollable feeling isn't going away and it's tacky, both garish and sticky, and I feel more like a 9 year old than I have in years.

breakups
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About the Creator

Katherine Collins

I'm an artist and writer in Austin, TX who is juggling too many things but loves them all too much to stop. I watch TV academically and listen to true crime podcasts like it's my job.

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