Christmas Eve

It's Christmas Eve, I'm not yet awake.

It happened exactly as I had written in a shitty script on my phone while high on Lorazepam. We meet, after the longest of days. I give a hug, he detangles from my arms. I sit across him in defiance only to see him relieved to take up all the space on his seat and the seat beside his.

Then I meet his girlfriend. She looks like the girl from office that also looked like the ex before me. I smile with violence. I pinch her cheeks with violence. I hate her already.

Everyone is on the move because there is an airstrike and he is called to report to his battalion, and join a war where he would possibly never return from.

I lose him, I lose him again.

As a child, Christmas Eve is an occasion to really jump out of the bed for. Today, I open my eyes to drink in the relief that I am waking up from a bad dream.

Somedays I don't even know where these dreams come from. Perhaps my mind is giving me chance upon chance to do the right thing, react correctly, in love and in letting go. Sometimes, letting go can even mean to never read up on his social media pages again.

I potter around with a failed painting. Tried smashing monsters with the only reliable person I know, my Dark Souls 3 character. Boredom creeps in. I delete old videos and photos, only to create new records of my memory of them.

Then the Lorazepam 1mg hits, and my stammered breathing is now smooth and forgotten. There's no longer the need for me to move my head. I dive into a deep ocean of repressed memory till the fog and water makes it impossible to string thoughts together. 

Merry Christmas to you, my love.