Short Story: 'Letting Go'

 by Saffron Irons

My heart shudders as he passes, adrenaline filling my body. 6 months have gone by and yet I still study the face of every stranger I see. Anyone in that same long, grey coat and knitted hat that in my mind was made only for him. I have to slow my pace to catch my breath, calm my racing mind as it goes through every scenario that may or may not have happened if, in fact, it had been him. It wasn’t. The harsh North wind stings my face, and I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to bring my mind to the present, not that the present is somewhere I particularly want to be. I wonder what he is doing on this cold January afternoon, and then try not to wonder, which is harder than I think. It’s strange, the way our minds like to self-sabotage, making up scenarios, bringing up memories, that only break our hearts again and again.

My phone sits, cold and solid, in the depth of my coat pocket, calling out to me with malicious temptation. It could be so easy, in a single moment, to message anyone I wanted, and yet my mind only focuses on that one text chain, once full of vibrant love and affection, now dotted with one word answers and ignored messages. People have told me to ‘just go back to the way you were, before him’.

I consider this as I place one foot in front of the other, crunching on the gravel path, but I can’t picture myself ‘before’. In my head I am a child, and then I am here. There is no in between. I get out my phone and find a picture of myself, three years prior to now, and try to get inside her head. She doesn’t seem real, to me, like someone that existed only to other people, not another version of my being. Either way, I can not go back. I can not forget the way I felt with him, the mistakes I made. Promises, kept and broken. Trust, protected and shattered. I could forgive, but I can never forget. I cannot go back to that smiling, unbroken girl, because I am not her, I am not anymore, unbroken. I am also not one person, or another. I am a collection. A series of paintings or pieces of music, connecting in some weird unspoken way, to create the extent of my current being.

The sky darkens, and large raindrops begin to fall. As the rain falls, my mind finally gives way, and I let the tears fall with it. I have always felt safer in the rain, the dark skies hide my flaws, while the sun illuminates them. The rain envelops my body, while the sun burns through it. In the pocket of my coat remains the silver key. A symbol of safety and security. Of comfort, but also of potential. I reach for it instinctively, feeling the cold metal against my fingertips. I find myself taking it out. I squeeze it tightly, slowly uncurl my fingers, and with a single, almost untraceable movement, it drops into the drain beneath my feet. For a moment I freeze, and then, with my head held high, take one step, and then another. Each step taking me further away. Further from our life. Further from the key to a future that was never destined to be mine.