She's Stuck



As she rests her head in the palm of her hand, waiting accordingly for traffic to clear, she realized she was stuck. Because, it’s as if he was an old habit she keeps finding herself consumed with all over again.

Every time she finds herself alone, he is the stranger in the driver’s seat in the car next to her, or the one sitting across from her at Starbucks with his nose deep in The New York Times. Or the one, out of the corner of her eye, typing anxiously on the keyboard of his laptop.

Lately she’s been recalling memories. And lately, she’s been pushing them deeper and deeper, hidden in the abyss of her subconscious. She refuses to allow the recollections of their traditions and habits and conversations spike up into the front of her memories only to plant a seed of hope that may just only wash away with the rain. She refuses to hand out such power as if it was on a silver platter.

And yet, she’s still stuck. Although, She’s pushed as hard as she could, she keeps holding on to every good part. The scenes she keeps playing in her head, she realizes, may only be a slither of what actually was reality.


So then and only then, did she allow herself to press play on the last scene. The one memory that has just enough power to simmer down the blimp of the seed of hope. It was like hearing every good bye ever said to her - said all at once.


Love,

Cheya

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