Young Writers Society

The weekend it ended, I was carsick for the first time

in my life. I almost threw up some yogurt

on the way home to you and I had to pull over

because the smell of it was getting to me.

I got back home and I couldn’t eat,

as in, I wanted to, but I kept having this gag reflex

every time I tried. I didn’t want to tell you

but I still wanted you to know that I think my stomach shrunk

the week after. I looked in the mirror

and thought I lost five pounds but I realize now

I just shed the burden of being compared to a hypothetical.

.

One Facebook article says there’s something called

self-expansion that comes with a relationship,

and that’s why I feel like something in myself is missing.

But I don’t know how much I’ve expanded,

I feel like it was more of a shrinking, I’ve been shrinking

a little more every month. And the empty spaces,

you always filled them, because they were carved out for you to begin with,

they were carved for you to occupy and me to give up,

but for me to never actually give up on you. I think

I just gave up on myself because now

it feels like there’s no more room on the Ferris wheel

and the ride is over and the circus man tells me it’s time to go home now,

a home that I will never someday share with you.

.

I’m going through a cycle of firsts.

Last week was the first time I used the charcoal mask

since the last time we snuck into the shower together

and I washed your face with it.

Yesterday was the first time I laid out on the beach

since I took you home with me

and we fell asleep with the sun and your arm

on my back left a tan line.

Today was the first time I played Scrabble since the last time

that I ever doubted my instinct

that something was wrong, that maybe

you didn’t love me anymore. I was right. I know that now.

Two weeks ago I was offered a choice

between mango gelato and chocolate and I almost chose mango,

until I remembered you weren’t there with me to share it.

I haven’t really been eating chocolate lately,

despite what all the movies show, with the sad girl eating chocolate.

I can’t drink Mexican soda, either,

without being hyper conscious of the people around me

thinking it’s a coping mechanism,

and maybe it is a coping mechanism,

so I’m not drinking Mexican soda anymore and everything

just feels like a cycle of returning to the self

I knew before I met you.

.

I want to fast forward to the part where I’m over it.

where I’m strong again. Where, if you come back to me,

I will be able to say, “There is no more space for you.

I have already filled it.”