Three Hours

I was on the floor for three hours after you left.

There was the door to my bedroom, open like it might let you back in, and sun streamed through my window because it was Saturday, 3pm on a Saturday, and it didn’t make sense that the whole world had sunny Saturday while I sat.

3 hours on the floor, staring at myself in the long mirror that guarded my closet. Was it this shade of blue that made you leave? The scars on my chin or the scars you couldn’t see? Did I become too ugly on the outside, or did my insides disgust you too much for my beauty to make up for it?

I looked away after an hour, stared at the wall instead, but my gaze kept getting pulled back, and the carpet was a vortex sucking me in, obliteration, itchy, and I had claw marks from my nails on my legs; I could never tell if it was because I really itched or because I was trying to scratch you out of my skin.

My body started to go numb, sitting for so long, so I laid on the floor, and I pretended the lighting was fairies, and the magic wasn’t ending, just stopped for a second. I could practically feel you coming back, bursting through the door like every word you said wasn’t true–you told me I’d want you back and I laughed–you were right, I kept looking for you but you never showed up.

The sky darkened outside and the sunshine faded. 3 hours after 3 pm and the apartment was empty–you weren’t coming back, the sky was purple and my room’s light got more fake the more the sun went down–the light was gone, so were you. When the first star came out to play, I knew it was over, and tears leaked into my hair.

I clenched my fist in the carpet, glaring at the lights that held no magic, only science. The two of us were bones and nerves and nerve endings, and the magic that held us together broke, and if it could break, maybe that meant it had never existed at all.

 

I got up.

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About the author

Jasmina Kuenzli is a recent graduate of Texas A&M University who remains fascinated by storytelling. Her tumblr, jasminawritespoetry, contains her poetry and prose, as well as excerpts from the novels she is working on. When she's not writing, Jasmina enjoys jogging, girly pop music, and long conversations about superheroes, Harry Potter, and her love for coffee.

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