At least I remembered to shut off your damn phone alarm.
If I heard it’s stupid “presto” chime at 4:30 AM I think I would have crumbled. As it was, I already felt like death: dizzy, scared, flustered, ALONE.
There was such fear in the pit of my stomach.
The dizziness might’ve been attributed to (or completely caused by) the large glasses of wine- your favorite- that I had guzzled; an effort to forget the circumstances.
That night, I had a dream that you’d texted me.
I love you.
I loved you.
“Wait, what?” I screamed at my phone. “What are you talking about?” I sobbed. I threw the phone across the room. I woke up with a jolt to the sound of it smashing against the wood floor. Although the screen was cracked, I could still make out our last interaction.
I’m super busy. I love you. I’ll call you after work.
I love you too. Have a good day. Try to take it easy.
If divorce is death by a thousand paper cuts, I felt as though I’d been resurrected, tied down, and sliced across each scar.
I just needed to get through these next few days, weeks, months… It’ll get better with time, I lied to myself.
My mind wandered yet again. Just one week ago, you were laying down beside me. You sleepily asked me to move in closer; to snuggle up. It was so vulnerable and so unlike you- as though you knew.
Instinctually, I checked my phone for a text. I had your phone in my possession, though, so that’s one of the reasons it was not feasible. But I kept on checking. Just in case.