Supermarket love story

It all started with one ice cream tub.

I told myself that is was just going to be this one time.

One indulgence after losing him.

A sort of post break-up pain killer.

But then it became my everything.

Just like he'd been.

It became apart of my routine.

Just like our little date night's were.

I hate myself for acting like a teenager in a sitcom.

Everyone asks me what's wrong.

And I pretend that I'm okay.

When really every night I sit in my room with the light's out questioning where I went wrong.

Ice cream in hand, as I analyze every choice I ever made.

I suppose that the stuff was a simple reminder that there was still sweetness left in the world.

Now three months without you and yet the habit's remained.

Now I can't get enough of it.

I'm pleasured and sickened by it's taste.

At this point I know it's all just toxic waste.

Ten pounds later and next thing I know I'm staring at you in the frozen aisle of a publix supermarket.

This heartbreak, is nothing that I can sugarcoat.

The past lover, and the thing that got me through.

Both in the same space.

I hold a laugh in, thinking if I'd only had a preview of my life would I have gone through with it all?

I'm 5'61/2 and standing and still this is the lowest position that I've been in.

I'm in front of you, a living shrine of the love that we once shared.

The sweatshirt that you lent me, no longer oversized.

The kisses you left on my neck still there.

The promise ring you left me still stuck on my finger.

The slippers you bought me no longer new.

My long hair no longer golden or long.

And that's something that I do actually regret.

Liver soaked in wine the last thing I'd needed the night you left me were scissors.

Now you are standing in front of me.

You pretend like you can't see the bags that hide beneath my eyes.

Like I haven't been crying these past three months.

Like I'm still that golden girl you left behind.

You look at me like you looked at me the first time we met.

The fireworks in our chest exploding like they did that random night in may.

You ask how I'm doing?

I lie in reply.

I say I'm fine.

I think we both know it's all lies.

The freezers stacked with ice cream send a chill down my spine.

For the first time I look at your face and see that these past months haven't been kind to you either.

You look dead.

Pale-skinned.

Thinner.

And I find myself wishing I had taken that route too.

You run your hand through your hair for what seems like the thousandth times.

And I mirror your actions on what's left of my hair.

I turn the question to you and ask how are you?

You repeat my line.

Fine.

And I know that isn't true.

The scars on your wrist and my throat; evidence that we aren't okay.

Our thoughts echo in the silence of these grocery aisles.

I wonder what would happen if we listened to the silence.

Said nothing and I just grabbed your hand and dragged you back home with me, where you belong.

I tug on the sweat shirt, hoping it might jog your memory of what we once were.

I glance at the aisle's lined with freezers and I recognize that I have a choice.

Either choice is nothing more than a humiliation.

A tear rolls down my cheek.

And as though you've read my mind; in your dirty work boots you step forward too.

The mud covers my fluffy slippers.

Your arms wrap around the sweatshirt you once called yours.

Your hands on me where they should have always been.

I think you must be blind you must see only the old me.

This version of me is no good.

Neither of us really are though.

We walk out of this aisle arm in arm.

The only one we know we'll ever cross.

For a while we will be okay.

Our vices will be only each other.

In truth I think we both know we'll be standing right back here in a couple of months.

We're a beautiful disaster.

I'll lose these ten pounds

I'll toss out the ice cream.

My hair will return I'll be the golden girl again for a moment.

You'll comb your hair.

Your color will come back.

You'll gain the ten pounds I lost.

Our scars will heal.

Only to be replaced in a few month's when we attempt to make it in this world without one another, again.

We're are the definition of insanity.

We try the same thing over and over again expecting a different result.

But we both know how we'll end.

And yet we still hope that in the end this time we'll stick.

That this will be the last time that we will walk into the supermarket and resuming our love story.