witty-remark's Diaryland Diary



"Collette;" her name unfurls from your tongue in a comfortable sigh. "Once upon a time, I loved Collette."

You stop stroking my hand as I watch your head tilt to the side, eyes glazing over, while I imagine what memory of "Collette" you must be indulging in now.

I met her once, I recall, slowly withdrawing my face from the home I'd made for myself between the empty space between your shoulder and your neck. How nicely I had warmed it up with the flush from our cheeks and balmy breaths. How cold it felt now to retreat from that nook.

Yes, I remember now. I suggested we eat by a small, grassy knoll overlooking a stony pond. You seemed less than enthused until your eyes darted to her. Small, dainty, beautiful in how unassuming and simple she was. She lay on her stomach, propped up, with her chin resting in her palms.

You ran over to her, and in that moment I disappeared. It wouldn't matter if I were one step behind or one hundred; you wouldn't notice either way. I had never seen you that excited to approach anyone before.

She was quiet, but charming in spite of it, not despite. I liked her quite a bit. Though, as we ate, I couldn't shake the feeling that suddenly I had assumed the role of the third wheel.

"I liked her so much. I did everything to discover more about her. Kind of like I did with you...but...I loved Collette."

Now the name circulates in my mind like a boomerang. I will it away with other thoughts, but she returns each time.

And maybe that's my fear. That regardless of how many times I try to throw her out, she'll return again and again and again.

Why this jealousy? You assure me there's nothing between you two now, but it means little to me.

What does it feel like to be on the receiving end of heartbreak? I can't help but feel I'll know soon enough.

Each click on this keyboard begins to sound more and more like the incessant tick of a time bomb. As though I'm sealing my own fate. As though everything I type in this stupid, trivial margin of the internet is a prophecy, not an opinion.

You aren't over her, and I'm still under you.

However, I will NOT have my heart broken. I won't break yours out of spite, either.

Ha! How arrogant. What brazen folly to think your heart is actually mine, in the first place, to break.

3:08 a.m. - Sunday, Oct. 17, 2010

Then - Now

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