It’s easier to be the one to leave.

Left behind, routine goes on as normal, my feet ferrying me from place to place. How odd to fall asleep in an empty bed. Strange to walk without the weight of another hand clasped with mine.

He leaves me a sweatshirt and I pull it over my head, roll the sleeves up my wrists, strain to catch the lingering notes of him and smell only detergent and my own citrus perfume instead.

How easily our lives have intertwined, tangled.

I step carefully out of my house like climbing from a pile of ropes and strings. Daintily. I call friends I have been neglecting. I rearrange the furniture in my room. I brush the dust off my sketch book.

I try to write

but title everything “Waiting”.

Littering my floor with crumpled paper.

Wading through words.


to reach the shore.


6 Comments Add yours

  1. Kristan says:

    If you can find the strength to leave, then yes, I think it’s easier. Not, um, that I would know…

  2. Hunter says:

    I especially liked this: but title everything “Waiting”.

    Hope the waiting is brief.

  3. Paige says:

    Sometimes it’s easier to be the one who leaves, but being miserable when you know it was your choice…

  4. jessica vs says:

    kind of painful to read, but oh so enchanting at the same time!

  5. Philip says:

    lovely. very well written.

  6. mmmarty says:

    Wow. I can relate a lot to this. Thanks for your honesty 🙂


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