why did you chew up his heart just to spit it out?Â
was the only place you could find yourself on a road running away from the people you have left bleeding?Â
drunken poetry never made any sense, or at least not vyâs. especially not vyâs. they normally found themselves in bouts of laughter re-reading what theyâd written the morning after. consider it a makeshift hangover cure, they told themselves the first time, and since then, it stuck.
until today. the morning after their birthday celebration. 20 year old vy had to deal with problems sparked by 19 year old vyâthe first being stanzas that actually made sense. stanzas that were honest.
ed canât quite meet their eyes at times. when he does, thereâs a hint of the grief from when he held the letterâtheir letterâover his heart. especially now, when their hand brushes over his shoulder or they lean in a little too close.Â
he feigned indifference, but vy would always notice his muscles stiffen. or the way he would recoil, as if heâd been scorched. and when the two of them awkwardly laughed things off, vy canât help but wonder at the shared hurt, the intimate knowledge that they changed him as much as he changed them.Â
they want to say, i didnât mean to, but it rings untrue.Â
they didnât mean to, but theyâd wrote verbatim, iâm sorry iâm not her. iâm sorry you fell for it.
they didnât mean to, but they told him to forget about it. they told him to move on.
vy had neededâŠspace. needs space. itâs difficult, given their status as roommates, but they make do. theyâre only home when they need to beâwhen ed isnât. theyâre out the door whenever possibleâwhen edâs heading in.Â
conversations are scarce. they arenât the late-night talks ariel had instigated. they arenât the exchanged giggles over piss poor pick-up lines. these conversations are requests to brew coffee. complaints to do the dishes. threats to pack up and leave.Â
who knew projected angerâgrievances about too much creamer in their coffeeâwould be what keeps them awake at night?
the under-eye bags thatâd gradually begun to creep onto edâs face suggests that itâs mutual.
( three months later, and vy is still sleepless. no amount of liquor sings them a good enough lullaby.
three months later, and question after question after question continues to plague their head. does he still think about her me? does he miss her my touch? does he still ache the way i do?  )
â i donât know, â vy answers their reflection. itâs flat. blunt. none of the bravado they usually carry so well.Â
itâs flat and blunt in the same way their expression is. in the mirror, it shutters, gaze falling to the floor, mouth pulled down at the corners. the pinch between their eyebrows leaves a wrinkle thatâs tempting to smooth away.
â i justâŠi donât know. â