Monologue II

.

(ENTER)

(She stumbles into the room, foot catching on a broken tile. Catching her balance on the wall, she makes her way to the round glass-topped table and pours herself another glass of red wine. Time passes in sips and cigarettes.

Three glasses and hiccup later, she dials his number and calls. The phone rings damningly loud in the silence.

She blinks and smiles- and begins to speak.)

hey.. do you.. do you remember.. what day it is today?..

Today.. Today is the 27 of April ... Today.. Today would have been our anniversary.. If I had been enough for you.

If I was her.

Today.. Today would have been a day worth celebrating if I could have made you stay- Today - because today last year, you took my hand and asked me to be yours. Today last year, you took my hand and pledged that you'd be mine. Always.

Today last year you lied.

You lied- when-

Do you remember?

Do you remember that first date? Stifling laughter in the movie theatre, breath catching when you took my hand- I don't even remember what the movie was about anymore.. Do you remember the stupid things- the little things I can't help but hold on to? Little things.. - your blinding smile, as you said 'The important thing is that I got to spend time with you'- your thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand- quiet moments- lulls in the rapids where you just held me in comfortable silence and whispered words. Do you remember..

Do you remember talking about the future? Because.. I do- It hurts.. because at the end of it all, even though you were the one who said forever, forever and always and looked into the future, far far into the future- and thought about marriage and shit- it was always me who fell far more deeply into this, down the rabbit-hole and-

I wanted to see the world with you- I wanted to go stargazing, and take long walks along the beach looking for seashells and listening to the sound of waves against the shore- fall asleep to the sound of your breathing and wake up to sunlight streaming on your face, spin around the streets, dizzy with happiness just from being next to you as we sang songs together because it was always music- music that was our connection and I loved you.

Even though I never said it I loved - love? - you.

Even after all this time has passed, I find that I- I still can't- I still can't forget you.

Remembering you comes in flashbacks and echoes, nostalgia creeping up unexpectedly like a thief in the night, draping itself to weigh down heavy on my shoulders. It's - the little things that cut the worst. It's being unable to sit at our old cafe without thinking of you, it's your face slipping unwanted to the forefront of my mind in idle moments. It's- missing your heat- The warmth of your arm around my waist, fingers laced with mine, leaning back against you like reassurance. It's missing your voice harmonising with mine- It's..

Do you- Does anything that we had even mean anything to you anymore? At all?

I don't- I don't know- I don't know how much of us- how much of those late night calls, those sweet texts, your fingers laced with mine- I don't know how much of that was meant for me- How much of that was you measuring me up to her and finding me wanting- And I- I just find myself questioning the validity of all that's happened between much of it was real? How much of it was merely you trying to find a replacement- how much of it did you really feel? TELL ME.

All this time... I thought we were speaking, but they were only constructs made to fool me, weren't they? Constructs I created. Constructs: repetitive- mundane- meaning absolutely nothing the same way we meant absolutely nothing. How easy is it? For you to let go of this. To let go of us. Was there ever an us? Did I ever exist in your eyes?

(She sits in silence, tracing the rim of her glass with a finger, staring unfocused eyes into the deep red of her wine. Time passes.)

How do I forget you, love? I really don't know that. How do I forget you and move on? How do I work this out without breaking? How do I look at you walk past you smilewavehello without feeling like shattering?

I'm sorry, I'm sorry I wasn't enough

I'm sorry I wasn't enough to make you feel because I know what being empty feels like I'm sorry I'm not enough I'm sorry I'm not her I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so fucking sorry but it's not enough I'm not enough even though I wish I was and it hurts so bad because I'm not her-

Talk… Talk to me- please. Please say something- Please. I can't- I can't- Say something- anything- PLEASE-

Is that it?..

Is that- I'm not even worth a single breath, a single word, am I?

I wrote you letters- I wrote you words, pages and pages of words- I poured words on the page and I bared my heart- and-

I'm just so sick of-

I'm sick of trying. sick of feeling. sick of fighting to hold on to something that slips right past through my fingertips. I'm sick- sick of feeling- sick of you - sick of trying and fighting to hold on to keep you a friend, the present, a part of my fucking life when you're so bloody intent on staying a piece of my past, when you're just there saying absolutely nothing, absolutely nothing that is ever not completely insensitive (that's one more ex you can talk about when your current is crying and pouring her fucking heart out just to get it shoved down her oesophagus) and I'm just so fucking sick of caring so damn much when you- you just don't give a shit and trying, when you walk past like everything we ever had was nothing- nothing. I'm so sick of wishing I was enough- her, instead of nothing- I'm so sick of clinging to my demons and clutching them to my breast- so sick of holding on to you-

I need to let you go.

I'm so sick of this, love. I'm so tired of holding on to you.. to the wish that we existed.. I'm so tired- so.. I'm letting you go tonight. I will always love you- somewhere deep inside- the memory of us will live on in my heart, a fading reassurance that will die with my fire for you.

In this lonely twilight, I kiss you farewell and am no longer half of a whole.

(EXIT)

(She leaves behind red wine staining circles in her glass, leaves behind his letters, leaves behind him. She walks away, strangely lucid in this haze.

Behind her, her phone repeats its mantra:

'The number you have dialled is no longer in service. … The number you have dialled is no long in service.')


Constructive criticism is welcome, as always.

- isilyasong