by Senna Arbman
Do you ever get the feeling like you just want to do nothing. Like you just want to sit down and stare ahead of yourself. Because I have a feeling it isn't just me who feels like that, right?
It's a feeling, yet it isn't a feeling at the same time, the point is that you feel nothing at all.
Sometimes it goes on for a few days, and there are times where it just lasts a couple of minutes.
Nothing matters in those moments. And that is how I feel right now. Like nothing matters, not even him, not even I matter.
I feel like I'm just done, done with everything.
"Do you still feel like this, do you still have these thoughts?" She asks me.
And to be honest I don't know if I can answer her question. It's weird, that I don't know how I feel. I feel like this, yet I don't at the same time. A part is still true, or true again.
He doesn't matter to me anymore and I am done with him. Just no longer with myself. These sessions haven't really helped me. I figured it all out on my own.
"I still have them at times. Just not as dark and nearly not as often as before." Is what I tell her.
She nods at me and writes something down on her notepad, I try to read it, but just like every other time she shields it away from me.
"Do you think it had to do something with him?"
The way she says him, shows me that she isn't certain if she should bring him up. I wait with answering her and she stares at me, she stares at me like she is trying to read my mind.
"Yes." Is all I say.
"Do you care to elaborate?"
"No." Is all I say.
"Is there a reason why..." She is interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in."
A man in, what I guess, his late forties walks in. He has black hair that is turning grey at the sides. His face is hanging, wrinkles cover it and his eyes look tired.
He has a strong jaw, with a slight grey stubble, his nose is small yet manly, his lips are perched together like he is holding something back.
He looks like the type of man that used to be a heartthrob to all the girls in his school, but unfortunately life wore him out.
"Can I talk to you in private? It's important." He stares at her. She gets up from her chair and follows him outside the room. Right before she leaves she turns around to me.
"I apologize, I hope you can wait until I get back." I nod at her and sit still in the couch.
I stare at the clock and see the seconds pass. I stare at the clock and see the minutes pass.
After exactly 7 minutes and 34 seconds she comes back in the room.
She sits down again and just keeps apologizing. It's annoying. And I get more irritated by the way she looks at me.
Like I'm some lost puppy who can't handle to be left alone for a couple of minutes. But then again, after last summer everyone looks at me like that.
And here we are again, thinking about the one thing that I want to forget so badly.
I looked back up at him. He is perfect. And to the people saying perfection doesn't exist, he is perfect to me, for me.
His tousled black hair that falls over his forehead and slightly over his piercing steel blues eyes that are staring into my small grey ones.
He softly smiles at me with his pink full lips and leans in so that our noses are touching. His straight nose bumped against my bulby button nose covered in tiny freckles.
I just couldn't look away, so caught up in the moment that I didn't realise what he was doing.
He was making me fall head over heels with him, and he knew it. The only person it was a surprise for was me. But when I finally realised it, it was already to late.
I would've loved him anyway. I'd do it all over again. Not one moment that I would change. Not one touch that I would stop. Even knowing that he was going to break my heart.
I would love him again.
I startled out of my daydream of my own tears falling on my hands. My eyes peer up at the tissue that is now in my line of sight.
I take it and wipe away any mascara streaks that my tears left behind.
"You can't seem to forget about it, can you?" She asks.
"How could I, those are the last and only memories I will ever have of him." And of course his grave that I can visit, but she doesn't have to know that.
"Do you still love him?" She looks unsure, doubting if she should push like that. But in reality, is that even a fucking question?
And alarm goes off and I look at the clock and see that my session is over. I get up and walk out of her office without a second glance in her direction.
When I'm outside on the busy street I feel like I can finally relax, I breathe in the not really fresh air, but still it feels like I haven't taken a breath in years.
I hate going to my therapist, to talk about my feelings, to talk about him, to talk about everything I just don't want to talk about.
But they're forcing me to see her. They think it will stop me from doing the same as him. Yet if it happens, it happens, and there is nothing anyone can do, not even me.
I start walking to my small apartment, where it's just me, myself, and I. I know it sounds lonely, though after a while you'll start to appreciate the silence.
I open the front door and realise, that you have no idea what I'm talking about. I keep saying him like he is some kind of disease that I'm infected with. Maybe I am, now that I think about it.
But first let me explain myself.
I was once deeply in love with a boy, he whose name we do not speak. I thought he was perfect for me and that I was perfect for him. It felt like we were soulmates. Maybe we were.
But it didn't go like the nice stories you read about in fairytales, this was closer to a horror story.