Undercurrents

November 16, 2008

Steam and cigarette smoke swirled above me as I lay on a tub full of warm relaxing water. My favorite music was reverberating around the room and my hot boyfriend was dancing naked in front of me. It was one of those rare perfect moments you get in real life. At that moment, I really couldn't ask for anything more.

I put out my cigarette and moved to the other side of the spacious tub, allowing my limbs to float naturally and that word - swim - broke through my hedonistic daze and immediately destroyed it. I was immobile, hiding my face under the water as everything which I've been trying to forget these past few months just crashed down on me in that instant.

He was a swimmer. That guy. And I felt myself surrounded by his presence as if he was the scalding water, eddying round my body.

In that instant, I had a notion of how it would have felt like being with him. How my life would have gone one if I ended up with him and not with my baby. How it would have felt if it was he who was slowly dipping his legs in the tub, caressing the small of my back.

It was a short-lived thought, and I realized that I cannot pretend to relish that idea for long even if it would have undoubtedly been hot to be naked in the same tub with him. It was pain which predominated my feelings then. The pain of remembering.

How can I not feel pain when I'm hearing now that he is saying bad things about me. After all that I have done?

How can I not feel pain when he's telling everyone that he's lucky he lost his fone so I won't be able to text him anymore. How dare he? How can he say all these things about me?

After all that I have done for him. "When he knew that I was always on his side..."

All the pain I thought I've forgotten. All that pain, reader, came crashing down on me and it made me realize how damaged my heart is after what happened at rainbow's end. I was amazed at myself, how I was able to move out of that emotional sinkhole in a very short span of time.

***

Now I'm alone, back on my dormitory bed. Unable to sleep. Listening to Regina Spektor's "Samson" and Katy Perry's "Thinking of You" and willing myself to get rid of this because it is not worthy of my time. Willing myself to cry to make me feel better. But I cannot shed a tear because I know deep inside me that it's not that important to cry about but not that worthless for me to ignore it either.

So here I am, not knowing what to do. Typing all this shit out so that maybe later when I read this after it has been published I will be ashamed of ever being in this state. Tomorrow, it's always better. I've been in this state countless times before so I know. The same thing. Only with different names, different faces...

Oh reader...

Over and over again, isn't it?

I know I'm okay now. I'm back with my baby and we've never been better.

But my heart! My poor poor heart... Why did I have to let it go through a lot?

I've never been this close to regretting what I did.