The Mourning

This is the final post to conclude the saga of the ex-bartender and Rawboy, a tragedy set in the semi-suburbs of an overrated town in Virginia. Yes, this is your over-the-top, dramatic, and somewhat pathetic confession of a girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders who needs no one. If I told you that Rawboy was moving out this time, you may not believe me. You wouldn't believe me because I've told you this a million times before, and he never left. But tonight is different because all of his things are packed and sitting in boxes in an apartment miles away, a perfect little oasis where Rawboy can do his thing, act like a child, express his anger, be silent, sing, cry, scream, cook, screw, grow up, throw up, mature, find himself, and regret.

Rawboy is an incredible, self-absorbed asshole.

But the reason I post tonight is because I'm mourning his last night here. Don't get me wrong- when it was bad, it was really bad. But there were also the days when we worked really well. I'm remembering a time when he took my hand and led me through the woods to listen to the trees and the water running through the creek.

During his first few weeks in the house, I got very sick and he nursed me back to health.

There was a moment when he stood there and cried over the pain of his childhood and the fear of becoming a parent. I held him and told him he'd be a great father.

In the morning, lying there silent, he played with my hair and had no idea how that made me feel.

One week he went to the Bahamas. My phone woke me one morning with a picture of the sunrise over the ocean. I never told him that I felt like I was with him as I looked at it and cried. I see it every day.

There was a time when he told me he was coming to realize what a beautiful person I was and that he loved me.

He reminds me to breathe.

So there. Maybe I'm too dramatic. Too honest. Too easy. And I'll never hear the end of it from my friends. I wear my heart on my sleeve and don't hide my emotions. I don't care what he sees, or what you see. This is all I have- besides the pill I take to help me sleep.

So tomorrow I am alone again, for the first time in 8 months. Yes, that's a record for me. This "living together" thing kicked my ass. I don't think I'm ready. Fuck, I'm just trying to breathe.

As for the future, I don't wish to continue any kind of relationship with Rawboy. Who knows. He has a lot of growing to do and it should be done in my absence. I would, however, like to see him in about 10 years. We'd run into each other in Figi, where I'll be living in a straw hut by the water, catching my own fucking fish.

Oh, and my kitchen is once again a very lonely place. I think I need a juicer.