“It’s One Of Those Days. They’re Asking Me How You Are, As Though You’d Still Confide In Me.

“It’s one of those days. They’re asking me how you are, as though you’d still confide in me. As though I had an inkling of what you were up to. They’re staring at me with their glasses of champagne and their painted smiles, wondering aloud how I’m doing without you. I say I’m happy for you, then I cry myself to sleep at night. It doesn’t matter how much time passes. The memories cut deeper the more times I turn them over. Just like that, you got into that car that one day in September, wearing your maroon trenchcoat and your too-long scarf, and when you slammed the door shut, you did not even look back. Not once. Not even for me. You left it all behind. Your mind was always too big to live in such a small town, your mum used to say, but I didn’t agree. I thought the city would choke you. I thought it’d rob you of the air you needed to breathe - I nearly find myself wishing it had and I’m sorry for it. The city was at your feet from the moment you moved into that apartment overviewing the river, put up your mismatched mugs on your shelf in the kitchen and filled the rooms with your laughter. What hurt me the most was not you leaving me behind without hesitation. It was me realising that I could never be that person. I could never get into a car and slam the door shut on everything that used to mean the world to me and never look back. This is not who I am. I am the one who stays behind and answers questions about the people who left. If someone happens to ask you about me, do you tell them you‘re happy for me and mean it?”

— the one who stays behind / n.j.