A wiser internet quote once said, “the wrong person at the wrong time will leave you in a catastrophic heap on the ground.” They will hire search and rescue teams to gather your remains. They will piece you back together like a jigsaw puzzle. I tried to warn you. She came in like a tsunami, holding only the promise of total destruction. She left quietly, softly, in waves resonating further and further away.
She’ll leave you on a cold night, and you’ll never feel more alone. She’ll leave you after a fistfight, after your words have left each other looking like fallen soldiers of war. She’ll leave you empty. Empty fridge, empty bed, empty stomach. Empty. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
You will practice destruction. You will rinse your mouth with acetone. Shave your head, grow a beard, scrub the underside of your fingernails until they bleed out every last one of her skin cells. You will take up the art of arson. Make a career of setting fire to your life with her. Your bed sheets, your pillows, your bed. Every place you fucked her. Every place you told her you loved her. You will set fire to the ashes. You will start smoking the cigarettes you quit for her. Your lung cancer will come back, so will your second mortgage. You will pay psychics, magicians, self-help authors to either bring her back or take her away.
But after it all, you’ll remember your name.
I woke up in bed with old demons.