This is a photo I found on Flickr that inspired what I’m about to post.
I sat down at his desk with a heavy heart. For years I’d sat in this same spot, smiling, laughing; on his lap, or writing him a love letter. It was strange, the feeling of one last time. I’d always had a sense of it coming; like a veil, I grazed it with my fingertips from time to time. Finally, much to my relief and regret, it was time.
I told him everything. I told him of the screeching, terrific pain he’d inflicted. I explained to him the scars he’d left behind with each pitiful attempt to justify his wrong. I had no guilt in admitting it all. It would never hurt him, for he would never see it.
I told him of the realization. I professed to the love I’d had for another buried deep in my heart, and revealed through the daggers he had thrown at my back, the same daggers that shattered our vase of trust and love; our vase of commitment.
Later that week, I packed a bag and drove. I stopped to buy a bottle and a cork at a local store on the way.
I drove and I drove. I reached my destination seemingly hours after I began the drive, but it was the perfect time. It was dusk, the wind was strong, but I was ready. I slipped off my shoes, holding them tightly in my left hand, and walked deeper and deeper into the ocean. Finally, waist deep, I tossed you away. I tossed your love, your selfishness, your hold on my heart; I tossed it all and walked away.