he wore the shirt i went to lakeland to buy him when he came over to bring me my things. the level of discomfort was intense as he stood in the open doorway letting the light out, letting the bugs in, and keeping my eyes tight on his waistline was all i could do to keep my arms pinned to the side.

he hadn't slept since the funeral, he told me. but he didn't waste any time ridding himself of the last physical remnants of my presence. too many fancy words because i am thinking way too much. because i am sitting here anticipating another awkward moment cause he left my nintendo at his house and apparently never intends on seeing me again because he went home to get it and bring it here now.

god, i'm angry and dumb and i don't want to be angry. but goddamn it, somewhere in my simple little mind i didn't put two and two together to think this was why he wanted to know if i was busy. rragra you know, twice now he's said something to the effect of, you seem to be doing fine and what am i supposed to say to that? i said i didn't have much of a choice < insert raving lunacy here that is better off deleted > and maybe i am angry because i paused it all a week ago when i decided i couldn't deal with it anymore and the sight of him has it all rushing back or maybe it's that look i got, the one i couldn't decipher couldn't figure out his eyes that looked like he wanted to say something but didn't know how; they looked like an unsure thought; they looked at the floor as he walked out the door and that little thing slipped over the wall i'd been so careful building and with one look from him i now need to restructure.

but here i sit, less angry than five minutes ago, reclaiming my nerves. retelling myself the words that come from cards with cats and simple baroque art. reattain the calm. remember to breathe.