By Nixosia

One Shot

Note: Maybe it's a bit of a ramble, but I'm somewhere between distraught and okay right now. And it's three in the morning. Say whatever you will, this is what I've churned out.

The night is over now. Two nights already. Three hours. Nearly ten months is undone. In three hours it ended. But it doesn't even hurt as much as it should. Because it doesn't. Because I understand. Because I have to understand. Three hours. Because I don't want to hurt. Bingo. I'm afraid to hurt, but I don't think I was ever going to get hurt in the first place. Seamlessly. Yes. A seamless split. Not emotionless, because I cried. I cried my tears for what I lost. Not emotionless. Because the words were expressed, "I don't mean to hurt you." And I understand, because there is no need for hurt when you care for each other.

Except I feel that I fail when I really try. When I buckle down and decide that I'm not working my hardest, so I'm going to start now, I always start just a little too late. Because apparently everyone except for me knows when I feel overwhelmed. Because I really didn't know that I felt overwhelmed. I didn't realize it. But I wish I had, because then maybe I could have taken a step back, and assessed the situation.

"You feeling overwhelmed?"

"Just a tad."

I wasn't the one making the assessment though, and really that's frustrating. Because school fucks with everyone, and boy is it fucking with me. Was. Is. Will. All of them. Past tense. Present tense. Future tense. Past. Present. Future. All of them. But I wasn't the only one being screwed around with. It was the work. The stress. Three hours. Nearly ten months is undone now. And I've cried over these things before, it's not the first time I've been told, "We'll be better off as friends." But it is the first time it was said with, "…for now," at the end.

I can't help thinking that it was me, even if it wasn't. Did you do this for me? I can't help thinking that if I'd just done one thing different. If I'd laid down on the offered arm. If I hadn't removed my hand from it's place on his back. If I'd cling just a little tighter. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was because I admitted to feeling overwhelmed. Because I was honest? Well, wouldn't that suck? But I'm okay, because I am. Because I have to be? No. Because I am.

Why do I bother then?

Because I'm not. Because ten months is undone now. In three hours. Because there were so many solutions, but so long as one person wants out, there's little to be done. Because it would have been wrong to fight. Because it would have been even more painful. Because I ramble when I don't know what to say. Because there are certain people who make me forget my words.

Because maybe it took more than three hours, even if I won't admit it, even if I don't know it, I know it, and that's what hurts. Because I can't help thinking that things would be better if I'd made just a little more time. If the early summer hadn't been a period of procrastination, and I wasn't so afraid of not getting my work done by later. If I wasn't so academically oriented. If I'd stopped and said, "Hey, I haven't seen him in [insert amount of time here], maybe I should put the work down and call him up."

Because I can clearly see the carefully built up, patched, mended, healed self-esteem going down in smoke. Because I'm afraid that's exactly what's going to happen. Because I don't want it to. Because I don't want to lose the person I've become, but I know myself well enough to know that I will. Because I'll cry at that loss even less than I cried at the end of nearly ten months.

My longest relationship.

My strongest relationship.

Because that's what hurts.

"It's easier to turn a friendship into a relationship, than a relationship into a friendship," I remember being told. I don't remember by who. I don't remember when, how long ago. But I do remember how true this rule has appeared to me. I've witnessed it. I've experienced it. And that's what's most frightening. Because the friendship that came before this relationship is something I would never give up. Not for the world. I wouldn't even give it up for a second chance, and I don't know if I should be proud of that.

But it's been two nights, and it doesn't seem any less real. Three hours. Ten months are undone. Undone in three hours. But maybe they're not totally undone, because I still care. And I still feel cared for. And in the end there was a sort of mutual understanding. An agreement of sorts, maybe. Silent. Under wraps. But there. I knew I would cry. And I did. And I'm proud that I let myself cry, because I have trouble with tears. They just don't work for me.

It's all a matter of getting it out there, because sometimes things don't work out, and it's something that needs to be accepted. It's a fact. Some things just don't work out. Sometimes there are lags. Sometimes there are rough patches. Sometimes those lags, and rough patches are overcome in the end. Because there's always the chance of a second chance. Another try. Because never before have I heard, "It's not because I want to," in a break up speech.

I could slit my wrists for you. But I know that isn't a solution. Because that won't help anyone. It won't make things better. It won't make time go back. It'll probably drive in a stake that doesn't need to be driven. It most certainly won't help me. I could slit my wrists for you. But I won't. Because I don't want to. Because it's not what anybody wants. So I won't. And it's surprising that the thought didn't even cross my mind. That no thoughts of any sort of likeness crossed my mind. Because usually, it seems, that it's the woman who goes suicidal.

Maybe that's how I know I'm okay. Because I'm not an overemotional wreck. Maybe that's how I'm okay. Because I'm able to accept that it's over, at least for now. Because I am able to accept the offer of friendship, an offer that - for once - I didn't need to extend. Because I know that I will be okay, because that's who I am. Because I'm able to cherish every second of what we had, and look forward to every second that we will.

There were no sparkly lights. No bang. Nothing.

Just calm.

And I'm able to cherish every second of what we had, and look forward to every second that we will.

Because the darkest light shines the brightest.

No fireworks.