witty-remark's Diaryland Diary



You broke up with me. A month later you said you �really fucked up,��your face got red and your eyes watered when you said it. I kept looking at the freckles on your face, like constellations in a rosy cloud. I had seen them so many times from so many different angles before. Connect the dots.

Your new glasses are crooked. I can tell because three freckles across your cheek line up almost perfectly. They draw attention to the handle of your frame, sloping slightly to the left. I want to push your glasses up the bridge of your nose for you. Adjust the frames. But it�s not my responsibility anymore. I won�t ever be in your space like that again. Tell your next ex-girlfriend to fix it before you two break up. If you do one thing with whomever�s after me, let it be to fix those glasses. Correct your vision. You�re seeing double. Either from the slant of your glasses or from the tears collecting in your eyes. I let you finish.

�I won�t ever date you again.�

You clasp your hands over your stomach and tell me hearing that makes you feel sick. I get a gritty sense of satisfaction�like swallowing sand with honey�when I know your pain comes from me. Those are the marks you had before, and those are the ones I gave you. Connect the scars.

Two months after our breakup, you buy me the record player I�ve been dreaming of. It�s a nightmare. Getting the best present I�ve ever received from the worst person I�ve ever met. No, you�re not the worst. You�re the most middle worst. Or the best middle most. Never do anything to its fullest. Glass half who-gives-a-fuck.
But I love my record player. And the person who gave it to me. I can start and stop songs exactly where I want. I�ve memorized the groves of my records. The needle comes down slowly on the fingerprint of the vinyl, and I wish it drew blood.

12:16 a.m. - Monday, Oct. 07, 2013

Then - Now

Latest Entry

About Me






other diaries: