Red rivers
My throbbing headache wakes me from my sleep. It’s 3 PM. I’m lying on my right side. Slowly, I turn onto my back and rub my eyes. Ouch. I sit up straight and slowly get out of bed. My head is pounding, causing me to lose my balance for a moment. I manage to collect myself and walk to the bathroom. I look in the mirror. I’m silent. So silent, just looking at myself. I get angry. My eyes are swollen and red. I hit the sink with my hands, step back, and put my hands in my hair, pulling at it. I let go. Enough is enough. I step into the shower. I think I was in the shower for an hour. Thinking. I’m so unbelievably angry that I don’t think I can even put it into words. Anger is an emotion I don’t usually feel easily, but my bucket is full. It’s been two months already. But it still hurts so much. The more I think about it, the more things I realize. This makes me angry again. But I’m also angry at myself. If you look at it, I did this to myself. Wait, what… No. No, that’s nonsense. I wasn’t the problem. I’m the victim. I run to my bedroom and put on the first clothes I see, grab my bag and keys, and head out. I arrive at the house. The door creaks open. Exactly as I remember. The blue door that was slammed shut so many times. I walk inside. The smell hits me. It makes me nauseous. I look at the kitchen and see the empty vase on the table. I visualize flowers in it. I shake my head. I try not to think about the memories and shake the smell off me. I have to keep going. I look at the living room, and nothing has changed in the past few months. Everything is exactly the same. I’m not surprised.
