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The neighbors still hadn't taken down their Christmas decorations. She still hadn't taken a bath. It would make her laugh if she laughed anymore. Maybe one day she'd chuckle at something. For now, it would be fake and performative. She was still deeply sad.
Of course.
She wanted to get him out of her memory - to get it all out - but still she'd be walking down the road and remember that older lady who pointed out a house of old folks she had taken care of. Narcissi had been in the car beside Leon. She always hired a car when he visited because she wanted to make sure they could freely have fun, and it wasn't so expensive. Of course, with him, money had not been the object. The object had been to revel. She reveled.
She remembers always the excitement. He would normally have only been in town an hour or so before they had hopped in the car. He was not very tactile, and she would reach her pinky over to touch his pinky as it was sitting on the seat. He never pulled away. He was always good at being impervious to her touch - never reactive. She would sometimes stroke the pinky with her pinky and call it affection.
He had always seemed a strange fish to her, and she was there for it. It got old to constantly talk about how great he was, but the only thing that mattered was that she recognized him - she found in him someone to really light up with. She always called it that because that's what it felt like - being turned on. Before, she hadn't even known that such a thing was possible. She had thought it was all over with and the best one could do would be to make the best of something.
Words words and more words. It was how she connected to him now that she had lost him. It was how she connected to herself. It was so hard to be lost. It was so hard to be - full stop. It was nice to see the birds. She had picked five yellow dandelions in the yard today - surely a harbinger. She hoped the gingko tree had made it through the winter. It was supposed to rain tomorrow.
It was all mundane.
None of it was stimulating. Soon, she'd be hanging with her family, and instead of it being something fun, it was some play she had to perform at, but it was work. That sucked. It was reality. There would be tons of advice and a well-meaning caring look from her aunt, but she'd look forward to the lonely solitude - even though it wasn't that great. Well, it kind of sucked. It was better than fake.
Her biscuits were getting more consistent, and she thought she might actually have the hang of it. Not that it mattered.
She had poorly written about the last family trip - the last trip before she knew it was over. Now she'd write about the last day again - not in the angry way but just from depression city - Main Street. Where she was at.
He came. She had made him come. She had begged him to come. Later, he claimed he shouldn't have invited himself, and that confused her. Perhaps he was being polite. She corrected him. He was inside a shell. Nothing she could say could really get to him, but his body was there. He couldn't wait to sleep. He slept after the dinner. She remembers touching his leg at the bar and being so happy he was there. He didn't respond and kept looking at the game on the bar tv.
She tossed until he came to bed. She touched his hair - his gorgeous hair - and his back - his pink freckled strong back. he didn't respond at all. She slid next to him just to feel him. He was there but not there and didn't respond. She hated when that shit happened, but she never said anything. What would there be to say "hey, when I touch you - I'd like to be touched back or have you respond." It was unsaid said anyway.
the next morning, she grinned like a cat when she was reading her book waiting for him to wake up and he reached for her and stroked her side then her boob. She put away the book and turned towards him. This man she loved - this man who was leaving her.
He guided her like a dancer. He rubbed her a bit. He seemed kind of pleased to look at her on top of him. Then, it was over. It took her half a beat to recognize it. Sex with him always made her feel sparked with electricity. She rested for a few then hopped to the ritual she had made.
The biscuits were made the quiche was made. None of them were great. He sat doing his puzzle. She wrote about how she felt in her journal. He left.
She texted him that she wanted to be exclusive. He didn't respond. She flipped the fuck out.
She always wondered what it might have been like if she had said, "you don't have to answer now, but are you done with this? are you not into it anymore?"
But, she hadn't known how to do that then. She just wailed and wailed.
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