Blush

She watched the color drain from my face like she was watching a stranger's bowel movement flush away. Break ups are often described as shit; I never thought I'd feel it so literally applied. She had a snarl distorting her lip, like it was hooked to a line that was teasing in a fish. A lip I'd so tenderly kissed previously, now surveying me with a nauseated pity. That snarl was teasing me, taunting me as if daring my face to crumple; daring my repulsive emotions to announce themselves across my features. I took the bait; lips shook and lids crumpled inexcusably as tears pricked my eyes. Still her snarl didn't waver. I think at one point I saw her skin crawl. Though it might have just been a blurring effect from the moisture that dowsed the accuracy of my vision.

In her defence I was stunned by my own weakness. My face folded like ancient origami, creased by the hands of a widowed man condemned to be alone until death. With each mortified tear, I shed from me a memory I thought we'd create together; the pieces of a life I thought we'd been contracted to build. Unfortunately our contract was void, I should have read the fine print. But as much as I wished to clutch on to her forever as she held my balled up fists in her apologetic hands I was yet again struck by how dry her palms were. The love struck pores freckling my convulsing mitts were never without a confident layer of sweat; a telling sign of my unyielding awe of her. She never perspired such devotion. I tried to pretend it didn't make me wonder if she didn't cherish our alliance. And even as the bitch's claws curled across my cheek to comfort me, I still felt her touch as feather light, fingers a lust stained satin - and longed to nuzzle across her chipped, dull nails; varnishing them with kisses.

I felt the hush of her departure before it occurred. It was the moment of tide before a new wave is formed, but after the swelling break has subsided. The faux sense of calm in a raging sea; that which hides the storm. In every inch by which she turned to leave she ripped one of the veins from my heart. The previously landlocked organ was free of constraints and as such was free to fall. I told my self, with a scream in my mind, that this could not possibly be the end. The denial cushioned my organ, so although it hit ribs as it fell to its death; it was less bruised than anticipated. The fruit on the top of the bunch. I told myself if she turned around then there was no doubt we were meant to be. Obsessively I counted the steps with which she left as if I were reciting a prayer. If she turns now she'll forgive me, now she'll take me back, if it's now we'll be together forever; or now and we'll be welded for life. Yet still she did not turn. Then a panic set in that I should of stopped her going, and a rage took me over. I screamed across to her retreating shadow; 'So this is the life you wanted?This solidarity is what you chose over me?'. My cowardice kept me from moving my feet, fleeing to her as I knew I wanted. Betrayed by the honesty of the woman I loved my body wouldn't let me move, it allowed only words. The words meant nothing, but with her reply she'd turn. With her reply she'd validate my superstitions. With her reply she'd fly back to my arms. Either for how she knew me too well or loved me too little; regardless, although I kept watching - she never did turn around.