Waking Up Alone (Chapter Two)

"You can avoid reality, but you cannot avoid the consequences of avoiding reality."-Ayn Rand

                The alarm chimes. He grabs his cell phone to turn it off, and then rolls over, expecting her to be there. But then remembers that she isn’t there. She won’t be there. The tears stream down his cheeks, much like the rain outside, as he remembers how she used to roll over into his arms as she awoke, begging for just a little more sleep. He’d kiss her forehead and hold her for a time. Sometimes they’d make love, and sometimes they’d simply rise from their bed. He’d pull on some clothes and she’d remove hers, readying herself for her shower. They’d head into their bathroom, and he’d brush his teeth as she showered, and then move into the kitchen to begin cooking her breakfast. When she finished in the shower, he’d follow her back into their bedroom and assist her in donning her dress, and one of his sweaters. Then they would share a kiss, and return to the kitchen to share eggs and toast, sometimes even sausage as well. But now he awakes picturing her in someone else’s arms. Dressing herself in the sweaters he left behind, in the home he left behind. He begged her to come with him when he had to leave. To find a home in Seattle as well. But there was something she couldn’t leave behind, and he left her with everything. Now he sits on the deck in the mornings, alone with his cigarette and memories of the times they shared. Weak from missing her, and empty without her. Every morning is a struggle to exist in the wake of what’s transpired. She’s torn, and he’s torn apart. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. The two of them were supposed to grow old together. They had planned their life, and built it together. But for now they wake in separate states, and face the days alone.

            Sharing all of yourself with a single other human being is a complex connection that, when broken may as well have killed your heart, soul, and taken all that you once knew. Surviving after losing everything you worked to build is the single most difficult task in this pain-filled, broken world. I of course speak of myself in this story. I of course speak of my heart. My soul. And my one and only. I miss who I once was, who I used to be. I miss who I was when she loved me. But my love wasn’t enough to hold her when she woke up alone, and that damn phone it never rings anymore. I just hope that she meant it when she told me that I’m handsome when I cry, because I tend to cry a lot these days.

            This is every morning for me, and I’m as broken as can be. I hope someone can connect with it, and realize that you are not alone.