the day after

Today is my day off. I find myself pacing around my apartment; my head is a shattered windshield.
L used to say that I should be fortunate to have her because she's the only girl crazy enough to deal with my "crazy ass." Even the most patient have their breaking point.
I don't know what happens next. I need to do laundry, but what's the point?
This entry is an incoherent and disjointed mess from an alone, broken hearted fuck-up.
When things were new and fireworks blossomed in our eyes I never thought I would be writing an entry like this. I loved L. I did. I fucked up -- a lot. I tried my best but sometimes that isn't enough.
Sundays were bittersweet: a goodbye kiss and a silent bedroom. Despite her absence my heart would twinkle and a slight smile would grace my face upon reading her three simple yet touching notes, but she's no longer "here" nor is she mine. Not anymore.
In my shower are her shampoo, conditioner and shower gel. In my bag is her book of Rimbaud's complete works. Her scent remains in my bed. Her cute little face (that sheepish smile) is like a vivid photograph haunting my mind.
Everything has been uprooted, scattered and thrown out onto the lawn. I take a knife and slice a hole the shape of a heart into my chest. Through the bloody mess I identify the culprit: my beating heart. I tear it from my torso and throw it onto the lawn. I fall to my knees and collapse face first onto the damp green earth, the place L once stood, turned around and softly said, "I love you."

mc