#itwasntnothing

I gave you everything 

every weak point  every prior hit  every place I don’t heal right 

you didn’t miss it  you learned it  mapped it clean  called it love  and then you used it 

my hope was twisted  given new shape  just as lethal 

cruelty  mixing pain  with words of love 

I don’t accept 

look at your hand  still on the hilt  making sure it stays 

you look at it  like it’s wrong  like it doesn’t belong  like I’m trying  to hand you something  that isn’t yours 

I can barely say  “You hurt me”  in case it transfers 

“No I didn’t.”  coldly said  with a jarring lack of shame 

you walk away  like nothing happened  like there’s nothing here  like I’m not still in it 

while again—  my blood soaks the ground 

but I’m not one  to die quietly 

“You call this love?” 

yes, there it is how dare I question your truth 

no longer blinded by your bullshit I see the pattern I somehow missed

louder  harsher  again  belittle 

what comes next  I can admit  I hold a share of blame 

I handed you the gun  I even let you  put it to my head  inviting trust  not Russian Roulette

Self-crowned "Southside Legend" I don’t think it works that way But whatever

If you're such a beloved figure what are you doing here?

Most of your jobs are on that south end, your excuse for never being home, remember?

Your best memories favorite houses—oh! don't forget your bullshit crown.

Get out of my town.

I cut my teeth here I'm remembered by others outside my head

This really is a small town same strangers every morning same bartenders every Friday

same trucks same ferry line same waves same roads

You sit long enough somewhere people remember your face

Funny thing is I never saw yours until after we met now you’re everywhere

Get out of my fucking town

I see your truck and roll my eyes there you are again

parking lots gas stations grocery stores our old haunts

like this island copies and pastes you every few miles

I mean, dude— this isn’t your fucking town

You really think everybody knows you

couple drinks a few jobs people recognizing your truck and suddenly you’re some local legend

That’s cute

Being recognized isn’t the same thing as mattering

This island remembers everybody

especially the ones desperate to be remembered

the barstool version the customer service version the loud laugh big personality buy-me-a-round version

that doesn’t make you important just familiar

and small towns are full of familiar men

You confuse being tolerated with being admired

Small towns catch on eventually

Get the fuck out of my town.

I am not leaving empty handed, the author repeats the thought again. It’s been the mantra rolling on repeat since everything finally collapsed. She paces the too-small space, determined to find the memory, the lesson, anything that survived the most recent wrecking ball that swung on her world.

Too much time— too much hurt to leave with nothing.

Her eyes flick past that stupid treat on the headboard, refusing to consider it even once mor—

Her gaze locks on the mirror on his side of the room. She had emerged from her comfort hoodie today, and after a long shower of self-care, she looks more like the living version of herself—or rather, she thought she had…

The woman looking back at her was hardly woman at all. The sheer toll the last few months had taken on her had never been more stark than that moment in her simple tank top. A slight twist to the side and she sucked in a choked gasp at how clearly her ribs stood out through the material. She dare not bother lifting the shirt for a “better” view.

The jeans she had sworn were brand new hung off her hips as if they couldn’t bare the touch. She knew without even trying her belt would be of no use here.

Taking in the horrifying alternate angles, a thought springs forward, uninvited, “Look at that, we’re leaving less than empty handed.”

A loud crash fills the room and glass shards litter the bedroom floor. Our author walks away smiling, completely unbothered by the looming consequence of the next seven years after everything else.

you weren’t there not really

you said you would be and that meant you wouldn’t be

care for me felt like a chore something to get through something to check off

it didn’t matter what I did it landed when it was convenient for you

but in the middle of that your ex-wife became my best friend

she asks if i’m okay and waits like the answer actually matters

she says the thing even when it lands wrong and when it does she comes back without being dragged there

she can be sharp not cruel just— unfiltered enough to leave a mark

I fucking love that.

we don’t let things sit and call it nothing

we say it we deal with it we come back

when you ended it i told her and she stayed through the talking through the silence she didn’t rush it didn’t try to fix it

just sat in it with me even when it wasn’t easy for her to hear

we talk about you sometimes not like before not like it decides anything

just facts just history just— you as it relates to us and then we move on

she’s stubborn I can be worse

we don’t always land things clean but we don’t leave

we don’t disappear mid-sentence we don’t pretend something is nothing we say it we own it we come back every time

losing you sucked i won’t pretend it didn’t

but when people ask what it was like to love you?

your ex-wife is my best friend