Mercurial

The first time I suffered a rejection from a loved one, I simply walked for hours; I took the wrong bus, ended miles away from my parents house, and had to walk late at night through a very bad part of the city. It was OK, I just wanted the pain to subside, and didn't even notice time or the place where I was. That incertitude that comes with the first disappointment lingers for a long time, but fades amid that whirlwind of emotions that surround teenagers.
The most painful rejection felt directly in my soul, it being rendered apart with extreme slowness. Pain paired with certitude, I am not going to see her anymore.
Another occasion in which I had to draw the line, I chose to say goodbye; 1 am, tired as hell, I drove back one hundred miles to Winston-Salem. I hadn't had any sleep the day before, but staying at a place that was not mine anymore was simply out of the question.
The angriest moment came one summer, the obvious betrayal making me drive 90 miles an hour in a storm, late at night, when I couldn't even see the road and the only sound was the roar of my car.

Last Tuesday that pain came again, but it was better managed. It is not that searing sensation of loss, nor it implies anything more beyond a brief walk to my car. Yet, again, the sensation melds with rage, with sadness, with despair. Cynicism is creeping in, and pride hinders any attempt at communication.

There is got to be more to life than this.