again

Again. He almost slapped himself in disbelief. After he had gone through this once, why did he put himself through it again. Two losses in one day. Just three months after the first time. Same two. His right hand shivered, hurt a little, veins on his wrist throbbing erratically with the beating of his heart. Deep long sighs. Didn’t help. The air was scented with a scent meant to pacify. Pacified, he was not. His feet tapped impatiently, one after the other, on the carpeted surface in front of him. His butt hurt from sitting on the sturdy seat for so long already.

Again. His eyes showed a sad portrait, a man near the cliff of breaking down. Beneath him, a drop into madness and despair. Behind him a raging fire that came ever closer. First of all, he missed her. It was a mistake seeing her. But it was also not. It was nice. The smile on his face had been natural and he couldn’t help how wide it spread, even though it hurt those now rarely used cheek muscles that pulled it from both sides. His eyes crinkled with joy, twinkling with delight. He could just stare at her for hours, get lost in those eyes that were sometimes grey, sometimes green, always deep and beautiful as the great wide ocean. Could spend hours listening to her. He had been acutely aware of her boots grazing his jean underneath the table. It had been a mistake. It had also not. It had been the most wonderful thing he could have experienced. He was grateful for it. For all of it. It hurt. He loved her. It hurt. He had thought he was over her, and he had been. But it still hurts to see someone you love. It’s painful. It’s nice.

The second loss was the more permanent one. That one hurt his heart. But in a different way. This wasn’t the tight clenching, the sharp squeezing that made his chest hurt. Not the heartache that caused tears to burn in the corners of his weary eyes. this was a different kind. A deeper knife, going into his heart at a glacial pace. She hadn’t even realized. At least there was that. He didn’t know what he would have done if she had. Whined and whimpered. Yelped, barked. No, he could not have imagined. He had waved at her sadly as he left. She would not be sleeping on his bed. She wouldn’t know. At least he was coming back. But she didn’t know that. He hoped she did. But she probably didn’t. She would probably think he had left. She was so small when he had gotten her. She would play for a few minutes and plop by his foot with a heavy sigh. Sleeping on his foot sometimes. She had barely been the size of one of his feet. Now she was almost the size of a ten year old and just as excitable. No, this was a different kind of pain. It felt like betrayal. His hands and feet judging him, dragging him, refusing to go any further. Just straining, stretching to show him the bird. Willing themselves to trip over so he would hurt himself. He had promised her he wouldn’t leave. He was leaving. She was so pure. He was so… human.