after her
A journal of recovery
I cleaned the flat like she was coming home
Mood: Helpless
I didnt sleep well. I messaged her as soon as I got up, meaningless drivel about having a good day. I resolved to leave her alone, let her take a break from my constant filler messages.
I cleaned everything. The bathroom, the kitchen, under the sofa where the dust collects. I even did the floors. She always said the floors looked terrible. I used the steam cleaner she had lent me and felt the sudden weight land that I had to give her back the belongings she had here. It carried a lot more than it ever had before.
I don't know why I did it. I can't prove that I can fix myself anymore, it's too late. She's not coming home. She's coming on Friday and it won't be to inspect the grouting. I think I just needed to move. To do something with my hands that wasn't picking up my phone. Still, I checked if she'd read my message at least 15 times before lunch.
The flat looks good, relatively. It smells like cleaning products and sadness. I sat on the couch afterwards and realised I'd done it all for someone who won't know what it was like before. I hadn't let her visit for a long time, I was ashamed of the mess I'd become and the mess I was living in. It would just be normal to her.
Memories of who we used to be had been playing in my head for three days. Once when she was very drunk she told me that I didnt love her enough. I told her I did, I wondered if she believed it or knew just what she meant to me. I wondered if she still felt that way. I didn't want to ask.
Three days.