Cherry Blossom Teardrops

Poetry blog

"I love you." He says it with such certainty, as if he had never been so sure of anything before. His hands fiddle with the handle of his teacup and when he lifts it up it's with shaking fingers. He holds it close to his mouth delicately, resting it against his lower lip; he's holding it as if it was a piece of art and the mere pressure of his hands could break it. I take my eyes off of him and study my own hands, gripping my cup with enough force to make my knuckles turn white. Still, I hold it tighter desperately wishing  that it would just burst into a million tiny pieces and the subject would be dropped. I try to speak but the only thing that comes out of my throat is a miserable wheezing sound and I have to clear it before I try again. "This wasn't supposed to happen." It's the first thing that I can think of and I try not to notice the way he flinches or that his eyes water. He looks down at the cup again and I hadn't noticed him looking at me in the first place but now he's avoiding my gaze. I jump as he slams the cup down onto the table and stands up abruptly. "I need to leave, I have a- um. Whatever." And before I know it he's out of the door and it's shutting behind him. There is a spot on the wall where the paint has chipped and there is one less teacup in my cupboard.

I'm awake a lot more at night now than before. I think it's because I can't stop thinking about you. At first it's a nice feeling of warmth that embraces me but it quickly fades and then a million arrows are piercing my skin. All because of the light in your eyes and the smile on your lips and how you will never direct it at me.

There's something about a name that rolls off your tongue hesitantly the first time you say it and is a familiar weight on your vocal chords every time after that, a name that makes you want to stick it to the end of yours just to feel the soft vowels move around in your mouth each time you introduce yourself.

Everyday I cut my hands on broken glass, my wrists on blades and my heart on my deepest thought.

Do you think I want to say something that hurts you?” He exclaimed, gesturing with his arms. A humourless laugh escaped my lips as I looked up at him with tears in my eyes. “Do you think I want to hear it?

Don’t talk. Okay, please don’t say anything, I know what you’re going to say.” My eyes started burning as I choked on my own tears, desperately trying to keep them down. “Let me explain." He began, looking at me with pity in his eyes. “What are you going to say, huh?” I began and I had raised my voice to a level where I was almost screaming. “What are you gonna say? That 'It didn’t work out', that 'We’re growing apart', that 'It’s not you, it’s me'? Because that is bullshit and you know that.” I took deep breath before continuing, this time as a whisper. “Or are you just going to tell me the truth? That 'I don’t-’,” my voice broke off into a sob and I had to start over, “'I don’t love you anymore’? The look in his eyes said everything.

I’m getting married.” I blurted out when I couldn’t handle the silence anymore. “Oh. Great,” he said looking suprised, “do you love him?” “Of course.” Not as much as I love you. As if he’d read my mind he asked his next question. “As much as you loved me?” I could not control the words that spilled out of me. “Never.

"Is this it?" He asked, a single tear rolling down his cheek. "I think this is it." She whispered helplessly. He reached out towards her and she willingly stepped in to his embrace. He could feel tears falling as he held her, rocking them both back and forth. "Don't cry," he mumbled into her hair, "we had a good run."