Love Divided By Five

Tonight I will be starting a series called "Love Divided By Five". I am thinking of expanding it into a novella. There is so much more story to each section. Names have been changed to protect the guilty :)  The first section is called:

Disappointment

I should have left after he said, “we’re just friends”.  But I stayed; there was something about him that made me want to.  It was something about his voice; his tone led me to believe he was saying it to make himself believe.  I asked him when he made this decision, my voice quivering because of the tears welding up behind my already painful and bloodshot eyes.  He bellowed his mantra “Im’ma do me,” which has always been the stupidest thing I have ever heard anyone say.  He rambling on about how he was going to do what he wanted to do and I could not stop him. I don’t know how someone with five children can just only be worried about themselves all the time, but he was sure holding to his convictions.  I secretly laughed inside.  I thought to myself, what an idiot. 

            The part of me that thought walk away wanted my heart to understand what I felt for his was a well crafted illusion.  There was nothing about our relationship that was real.  The blurred lines of reality and fantasy were drawn all over the pages of this relationship.  I always felt as if I was in a dream, my eyes glossy, sleepy and hazed. They never seemed to see the real story.  I didn’t have control of this and I needed control back. My heart could not take any more disappointment. It was time to walk away.

            The romantic in me would not listen to that smart part of me. This relationship, at times, caused me to lose all of my senses.  I never knew which end was up.  I loved this man from the moment he opened his thick lipped mouth.  The words that came from it at times were more than poetic.  My ears would be full of his complements, resounding as if they were a church bell being ringed on a wedding day. We could talk for hours about everything.  He saved me from myself—the long monotonous chore of sitting in my space, staring at the wall, really never going anywhere but to bed.  I called him my savoir.  My heart really believed that. I could not tell it anything else.  The words she heard—we are just friends—tore at her very core. It was like the words sliced into my heart causing my chest to fill with the blood of hurt.  Disappointment they call it.