the other side of the story

She looked me in the eye and told me how much my words hurt her, how my actions and lack of effort effectively left her feeling unwanted. That our time spent together, she could only cringe when remembering: what we did, what we didn’t, how I made no difference. I watched a single tear roll down her cheek and in that moment I felt the cold blow of reality hit me across the face.

He wasn’t completely oblivious, despite what he portrayed, his carefree mannerism. Under the surface their problems had been on his mind for some time, right then hearing her say them out loud, and seeing her so beautiful and vulnerable in front of him, left him so unreservedly ashamed.

For a while now, I had realised my mistakes, I had wished I had acted differently, but stubbornness and male ego are something so thickly etched within our personalities that they are impossible to get away from. Until we look up and see the result of our actions piercing our heart with honest words.

Until it’s too late, and today it was too late.

I struggled to feel for her soft hands, but she moved them off the table, out of reach. I searched her face to answer my confusion as to how we had gotten to this endlessly distant place. I found it hard to express myself but attempted to, I tried to formulate my sentences. I needed to tell her she had been continuously on my mind, wanted to tell her I’m sorry for the way I had made her feel, needed to make it all better. She put her finger to my lips. I closed my mouth, my words unformed, I slumped back into my chair; she was oblivious to the spark that ran down my body, as her touch brought back all the memories. She shut me up, shook her head.

In that moment, I saw the full extent of her pain, her closed heart as she looked jadedly into my eyes, said a resigning oh well without ever speaking the words. She stood up to leave. I couldn’t concentrate on her words, she was saying her goodbyes, as I racked my brain to understand how we had got to here, how such friendship and longing for one another had ended so abruptly; how I was suddenly so immobile, so lost for words, for a solution, when in the face of any other problem I would normally easily unravel with thirty seconds thought. She didn’t realise it but he knew that in the wave of his futility she was slowly disappearing in the crowds.

I walked away; each step was the hardest I had ever taken in my life. My feet felt heavy and my legs shaking as the finality of the situation consumed me. People around me were a blur, I moved once again unnoticed. With every breath I took in, my tears collected in a pool in my eyes. I made sure I didn’t crumble and turn around, beg him to want me, to hold me and make everything okay again. My confidence shattered, my throat raw from last night’s shouting and crying. I was both physically and emotionally seconds away from crashing to the floor.

Despite expecting it all from him, I could not believe the nerve of him to just watch, to not make me listen to his reasoning. Even if it was me who had silenced him, he stayed impassive, still, like his usual self, wall-like and ignorant.

However hard it was to see a glimmer of the future in my current state, I knew I had done the right thing for myself. Love or not, nothing should be this painful. Being the bigger person is never easy; spilling your heart out is even harder, worse yet being met with immature silence. Shocking; but seeing it in this light, admitting the reality of his personality, she shouldn’t have been surprised anymore.

She knew it was time to move on, and was happy it was done. She could now start the heeling process, and stop blaming herself for things not working out. His reserve was terribly heart-breaking; his ability to remain seated and not stop her walking away was beyond accepted circumstances. That was the final harsh slap she needed to be able to step out. That is who he was and not what she wanted.

That’s what he never realised.

Miss Mess



About iheartmess

A Middle Eastern Londoner 20-something living the 'western' life in between London and home.
This entry was posted in Fears, Mr B, written words and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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