Nobody ever told you the call is the most grueling part. It's as if your blood was sucked dry and you were left gasping for air like a fish out of water. You always knew it would happen—sooner or later. But later, always later. You never thought it would be sooner. This soon. Too soon.
The train ride is the loneliest. So lonely it's suffocating. Your head, an amalgamation of your worst fear into one. You wished for everywhere, somewhere, anywhere—but here.
The call is the most grueling part. And then the hug. And the handshake. Then the tears that came out too late. Like everything—it's always too late.
The call is the most grueling part. And then the realization that, what was supposed to be
will never be.
03.12.22
YOU ARE READING
Excerpts From A Book I'll Never Write
PoetryMy therapist told me i needed a healthier coping mechanism
