Revenge

I am running in circles, a hyper squirrel, a dog with an itch on it's tail. I grab my head in my hands, grab fistfuls of hair and pull, frustrated. Like ghosts, memories of your smile, your laugh, your touch, and your kiss mingle, rub themselves eerily on me. Or are you really here, taunting me with your invisibility? I snatch at air that in truth is no denser than the rest that surrounds me, moan and dive headfirst onto my pillow. The bed creaks in protest, and I decide to fight with it, kicking it hard with my feet, elevating my legs as much as they can, despite my stomach-down position. Then they hurt and I stop. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, and I hate hating you, because in truth I still love you, but I'm not going to admit it, not even to myself, which makes me a hypocrite, because I just did. Which makes me hate you even more. I look towards my bedside table, see a silly decoration of an angel made of glass, smiling. A present from my aunt, last Christmas. I pick it up delicately, trace my finger over her contour. I like the noise it makes when it hits the wall far on the other side of the room, the way the light jumps off it's remains, all over the floor. It reminds me of sea glass. Carefully sidestepping shards on my tiptoes, I walk to the window, climb on the window sill, press my face and hands against the pane. I look down on life, and imagine opening the window, my body gathering speed, the feel of concrete against my skin, muscles, the vains rupturing, the bones breaking. I try to imagine in what order all of this would happen, but passively. I'm only on the third floor. I hit the window with a flat hand, but the people down there don't notice. Nobody looks up at the girl who is trying to think of all the reasons why she shouldn't be with him, and who isn't afraid of any of these reasons as a normal person should be. I'm thinking he should be afraid now. He left me, and now I hate him, even if I love him anyway. I jump from the window sill, land on bits of the angel. Small red drops come from me. I get up not caring, deciding I need a plan.