Numb Nights

I was "That Girl."

Which is totally acceptable and even understandable when you're in your early twenties.
It's a right of passage, a stair well to true womanhood.

But after all the relationships I've had I should have known better.

Love makes you a painfully devastating fool.

Everyone knew.
Even the people who didn't know me knew.

...He is stringing you along until something better comes along....

But I wouldn't believe it.
I knew he loved me still.
He had to.
It was written in his eyes, somewhere inside, buried behind the lies, was the truth he longed to sing out.
I love you. I want you back. Take my hand and walk with me.

He's fucking some new girl instead.

'It's not serious,' he tried to reassure me.
'You know me. I don't know what I'm doing.'

Awe.
I see.
So I should feel better that I have been replaced by a fuck buddy?
You are shattering my heart for sex that doesn't mean anything?

Perfect.
Brilliant, really.

Because if he really liked her, if he was excited about the connection and wanted to pursue it then I could be happy for him.
But he was indifferent.
Numb.
As lost and discontent as ever.
So his actions left the bitter aftertaste of indifference in his mouth and blood in mine.

I am so pathetic.

Love believes the best, so they say.
Which is why I called him back when I found out his friend committed suicide.
And then we ended up back in each others arms.

And she took my place while my side of the bed was still warm.

What a silly little girl I am.

No lover. No friend. No soul mate.
No truth and nothing but the truth.
Just hollow words.
And one long hug.
And lips soft against my cheek.

A blur.
The merry go round keeps spinning even as I fall off it.
All I see is gray.
And the gnawing numbness.

How did it so quickly die?