She's been really blunt with the answers these past few weeks.
At first it was ignorance and blatant dismissal. She stopped looking me in the eyes, she stopped holding my hand. Her home became off limits, just as her phone, purse and lips. The emotional roller-coaster that our relationship had become climaxed in complete silence last week.. Not a word.
I'd stake out her house every day. Not to stalk her or talk to her, just to see her. This coffee place across her apartment had become a sort of home to me these past few days. I'd walk in, buy a coffee and sit by the window looking at her window sill. Nothing ever happens. I'd see her curtains, purple and silky, blow in and out in the wind but thats it.. I'd sit there for hours, fingers carelessly strumming on my guitar, lips randomly forming words to fit the chords, eyes flicking from her window to the watch every few minutes or so. This was murder. This was murder on my soul. My spirit clung on to the very last strands of love as did my mind with all the memories. I did not have to do this but i...i just wanted to..
I was beyond my self.
The waitress came. I placed an order for chocolate waffles, her favorite. I always made those for her every Saturday morning. I'd wake up early and i'd pour a fresh batter and i'd rush to her place before the pancakes could cool. She'd reward me with a smile and maybe a coffee. I did many things for her. I couldn't bring forth the exact number and variation of what i had done, but thinking about it made it all flash through my head. I was the giver, i realized, not the receiver.
Why?, why was I always the giver? WHY?
Suddenly from the pits of my stomach i felt a rage build. It came from nowhere. A dark Epiphany. A man can only give away so much before he had to tear at his spirits. Suddenly i felt like my blood had turned to bile. I was completely filled with bitterness. Not anger, but bitterness. I was not angry at her. I was not angry at her for all the things that she'd done or hadn't done. I was angry at myself for not demanding. Love is a two way melody, the moment one side stops, the other simply becomes noise. This had to stop.
I paid the cashier. Grabbed my guitar. Walked out.
Nine days, for nine days I've lived my life on her street looking for the same thing that had ruined me: her approval. I had realized that in some point of our relationship it was all about me pleasing her. Never the other way. Love is not about pleasing. Its about giving with the trust that you'd receive more. I was glad that I had done what I had to do and now, now i knew exactly what I have to do.
The rain was pouring as i stepped out into the street. It was cold and intrusive, yet cleansing. I walked to the middle of the road. People were beginning to look at me. I took out my guitar, flung aside my case and I strummed. Her favorite song. The guitar was the emotional bridge i had established between me and her, I sang my love to her with it. I was never without it. Now, however, it felt like alien in my hands. People had started to gather in the sidewalks. I simply played on. The song was going to end. I was crying by this time. Cold, liberating tears.
I strummed the last note and enjoyed the silence that hung in the air. Then slowly, i unslung my guitar and brought it over my head. With one fluid motion i brought the instrument down onto the street with all the strength, physically and emotionally, that i had. It splintered and shattered. The wood contorted and snapped and the strings flung about dangerously, one actually slicing my cheek. I had destroyed the bridge. The tears stopped instantly. The world came back into focus. The people on the sidewalks were flinching at the act of violence. I could only smile.
Something had tripped in me. Something snapped.
I composed myself and walked away. Rain still beating, heavier now, on my back. Tears still flowing.
Somewhere a few stories above the street a window, with purple, silky curtains lit up.
