The first few days after a break-up are exceptionally hard
to get by, they say. And why not. You get up every morning and look to your
left. That was his side of the bed. An empty pillow meets your eye. You take a
while to get over the first bit of shock.
You drag yourself out of bed because sleeping in is not an
option. You're not Miss Havisham of the Lower East Side. You've got to show up at
work because there are bills to pay and cold attendance sheets to worry about.
You go in for a shower and there it is. The toothbrush, slowly turning mouldy.
The tube of toothpaste that you have not bothered squeezing till the end
because somehow their memory held your OCD by its throat and strangled it. You
cry in the shower. That is the first time in the day that you have let go of
yourself.
Within the four walls of the bath, the tears are easy to
call. You hear a stray ring and realise that you have spent way too much time
thinking of what might have been, had you stuck together, had you not left
them.
It's easier if you're the one who has been left. You have someone
to blame, someone to hate for breaking your heart. Someone to help justify your
anger. Someone to call names. Because the anger needs an outlet. Silent screams
are not an answer.
But what if you're the one who walked away from the
relationship? How do you console yourself that you deserved better? Even as
your mind replays for the thousandth time in an hour the way his skin felt on
yours right after he got out of the bath.
"What?" he would ask, as you
looked at him, trying to find a new inch of his body that was waiting for you to discover it that day. He stayed a while after coming out of the shower, just to
let your eyes linger on him for a moment, before laughing and going to the
bedroom to get into his shorts.
The fragrance of the water lily stayed on just a moment more
than necessary. That shower gel was his favourite.
