Threads
“I never liked you. You were just a fling. If I liked you I would have asked you out”. These words just kept circling in her semi sleepy mind. It was his words. Some of the things he last told her. Over 3 years ago.
It hurt. Still. She shook herself awake and turned over on the bed. She got up, wore her slippers and went to the bathroom. There she peered at her tousled hair and half sleepy eyes. She reached over and grabbed her toothbrush and brushed her teeth. It was time to move on. To forget. But how? The pain was no more but the sting remained. And from time to time it stung.
The man who claimed he would never be in a relationship throwing acid words on her over the phone. Angry. Hurt. She had been pissed too. But she now realized why. Too late.
She tried to rationalize in her head why she had cared. He wasn’t a bad person. Quite the opposite. But he was a wounded person. He had baggage – as do so many. But his baggage dictated his life.
‘I saw myself in parts of him. He was like a mirror at times, saying the very things I was thinking in my head. It could have been so good.’ But it was not. And now, she was thankful that it was not. They were both a mess. She had her own unresolved issues and along with his baggage it would have been a blazing inferno on a regular basis. Not worth it. Not worth the effort.
‘You can’t focus on a relationship when you don’t know if you want a piss or a haircut’ she thought to herself. And she saw this in many of her own friends and his. Messy couples – there was a big mess and some love thrown in there. Their brawls were either public or private or both. And it was obvious that there were many incompatible souls battling out each day for society’s pleasure. Marriage. Children. And no real joy.
Yuck. It was not her cup of tea. He had gone his way and she had gone her own. And it was good. In one way, she was glad they had each found their own calling in life. If not, they would have been tearing each other apart, not knowing what the other wanted and too engrossed in their own needs to really look at another’s.
Distance helps. Finding your own self is good. And it helps.
She looked at her night shirt with its many holes and bits of threads sticking out. She enjoyed poking them on and off and fiddling with the threads. She reached for her phone and peered at the screen. 11.30pm. It was time to sleep.
She would on and off remember him. Remember the good times. But then the bad would also crop up. And it would hurt. And she would then let go the threads she was clutching. Threads that did not serve her anymore. Time to stitch up the holes and start afresh.
Time to face a new day.
