Departure

She said "I hope some day you feel you can talk to me again. I don't know what happened that there is this gulf in our communication."

Anger rises within me when I see that. She doesn't know? What does that mean? Was that someone else who sent me those hateful emails? Was it a joke? I bled tears for those words. I bled tears and bruised my knees. And now she comes to me to rip me open again.

Is it her fault? It is me who hasn't been answering the phone.

But it is also me who has been reading postmodern literature every waking moment, creating the most brilliant papers that I never knew I could produce. I am the one subdued and careful, who smiles sparingly. I am the one who never laughs anymore. It is my soul that is racked with grief and sorrow, who fights away apathy and indifference.

It is me who fell to my knees, calling for the angels. This broken corpse is me, who walks among the remnants of glory. Winds swirl around me, taking my story to add to its collection. This is where the fallen prince walked too, they hissed. He cut his feet on those mountains when he climbed. Here is where the fallen people lay camped for forty years. Here is where they were slain by their captives, strangers from the East. Here is where you kneel, dying, blood running from your veins, spilling into the sand which buries the dead for only some time.

She looks out the building facing the desert, searching for any sign of me. But I have left. She may follow, but she wont. She is afraid. She is lost, she says to herself, bitter resentment welling within her. Fool, that she may think to find salvation in a desert. She angrily threw her water after my trail, at the place where I had disappeared.