#itssoraya

This is my third time trying to write this. The words won’t materialise and sentences just fall apart quicker than I can put them together; that’s the story of my life at the moment. I have nobody to talk to. And, I don’t want to speak to any of them because they won’t understand. Even if they pretend to (That’s only Poppy, bless her heart) I still see the concern that my words tattoo on to her face every time his name leaves my lips.  They’ll al deny it a million times over but my friendship is like a parasite, which is why I’ve distanced myself from every single one of them. I’m there, with my arms wrapped tight around them, almost like an extra limb, but every time I speak, I drain a little more life from the conversation. A little more fun from the party. A little more tolerance from understanding eyes. Even 13 lines in, I’m struggling to put his name to paper. Three years ago, it made it’s home in my heart and I thought I’d erased it. I’d always assumed that maybe he’d punched it out of me, or it gently left with the winter I told Julian I’d marry him. It turns out it’s just spent the year residing in my throat, feasting and growing itself on all of the words I’ve forced myself to not say to him:  “I forgive you.”  “I miss you.”  “I hope you’re doing ok.”  “Can we talk?”  “I’m so proud of you.”  “The highlight of my year was hearing you hadn’t been successful when you tried to..do that.”

Let’s keep in mind that I got married this year. Yes, married. No wedding or fairytale dress, my Dad didn’t walk me down the aisle. Just me, Julian and a spur of the moment decision. I regretted it instantly. Not marrying Julian - that’s an entry all of it’s own - but not waiting for the fairytale that I’ve been planning since I was three years old and watched Ariel sail off under the rainbow with Prince Eric.  And, going behind my Dad’s back. And letting Kendall use the song I wrote specifically for him to dance with her Dad to.  And, letting Dallas lay in a hospital bed while I celebrated my engagement.  2020 has been the year of “Soraya finally gets her happy ending” but the bricks are made of guilt. Stuck together with the sticky situation that was my last relationship, or the messy fact that I can’t bring myself to fully agree with Hensley or Julian when they speak badly about him.  Now after all of this, I still can’t tell you what I’m feeling. Every inch of me physically aches when I hear his voice, or see him smile from the other side of the room. I feel like an animal that’s been held in captivity, trying to unlearn all of his tricks.