Do you want to know what I did today?
I came back home and I cleaned my room. Twice. Because I wanted to cry, and big girls don’t cry. So I cleaned my room.
I removed the mountain of washed clothes that had accumulated in the corner. All the dresses I’d bought in recent times, to wear for you. The stockings and leggings to go with them. The light jackets I’d been wearing on our outdoors dates because I knew you didn’t give two shits about my scars, but I still didn’t want people staring at us in public. It took a while, folding and putting everything away, memories and funny incidents still strung on to each and every of those dresses. But I’m not going to be wearing any of those for any of the reasons I wore them for… best to put them away now.
It felt like a funeral, like a burial of every happy color in my life. And I was tempted to cry, but I didn’t. Not even when I packed away my lingerie drawer, full of absurd scraps of lace that I’d only bought at all because you’d mentioned offhandly that you ‘like that shit’. And I knew exactly how much you liked each and every surprise from that drawer. But there’s no need for intimates where intimacy doesn’t exist. So I packed them up and put them away. It’s almost funny how many days we spent wrapped around those bits of cloth. Then again, when the fabric of reality itself changes, what possible strength can silk or satin have?
So I put them away, too.
And then I packed it all up, twice. Because you’re not gone yet, but you’re going to go very soon. And I have no use for these trappings of fantasies that are already evaporating. There’s so many things that are going to cease to be real for me, and it hurts, it really fucking hurts. Moving my bed to a different corner isn’t going to erase the love and the pain I’ve painted these walls with, and when it’s night and there’s nothing but darkness, those colors will show and I’m going to cry. I’m going to be crying for many, many nights. But I’m still going to have to get up and face a hundred people every day, smiling and laughing and doing whatever normal people do.
Because you and I were sitting at a bar today, drinking beer and listening to random music blaring- nothing we haven’t done a thousand times before, but something we probably won’t be doing again. And we were holding hands and Fergie was singing that it’s time to be a big girl now.
And big girls don’t cry.