Song Title Short Story #6

Tomorrow – Sean Lennon

We both knew it couldn’t last. There were too many factors working against us. Nevertheless, we couldn’t help ourselves. Then, one day, as we lay in my bed, tangled together after a mid-afternoon nap, I think we both came to the conclusion that this had to be the end.

On the outside, I was calmness personified, and so were you, as a matter of fact. But internally, my guts were twisting and turning as if they were a pair of swimming trunks being wrung out before being wrapped in a towel and put in your bag for the journey home. There were so many words I wanted to say, but they kept getting stuck in my throat. My mouth was dry, which was particularly odd as I had just finished a cup of coffee.

You asked me if I wanted you to leave. I said no. I said I wanted to fall asleep with you one last time, and wake up again with you in my arms just one last time. You smiled and said you could do that. I told you that it was going to be hard to get over you – you seemed to think it was going to be easier than I thought. If you were hurting, you hid it well.

I hate break-ups – that’s why I’ve only done it once before. What’s worse than the other person no longer being there, is the missing them. Even if it ends badly, they were still part of your life. But for us, it was a mutual ending. But I wasn’t looking forward to the dreams of you, or the waking up without you next to me. I wasn’t looking forward to not hearing your voice at the end of the phone, telling me you were coming over. I definitely wasn’t looking forward to the agony and pain of missing you. There should be an automatic function inside us that kicks in at the end of a relationship – one that goes to the brain and blocks off all the synapses at the first hint of longing and caring for the person you just split up with. Because, let’s face it – breaking up with you is going to be absolutely fucking horrible.

And then, too soon, the dawn broke and that was it. The closeness was gone, replaced by the awkwardness of you being in my home. Did I offer you breakfast? Or was it just a hug and a goodbye? I watched you stir and wake up. You smiled at me – at least it was still acceptable for me to watch you sleep – and we hugged. I offered you breakfast, but you declined and we settled for the hug and a goodbye.

And now I’m alone with my heartache. I promise to stop loving you. I promise I won’t sit at home waiting for your calls. Because though the phone will ring, it won’t be you who’s calling. You’ve gone and now it’s too late.

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