An Expired Relationship

Milk will turn sour, so will relationships (?)

“Dear Diary, this relationship is expiring. Tick-tock, the past is devouring the future. How can I preserve the moments we had? If this tie is doomed to end, I hope our whisperings of love can last longer in memories.” 

“Hey, babe, tell me what’s wrong,” he said desperately as if to bring a dead bird back to life. She couldn't help but feel detached. All the begging, bargaining, cursing had turned this “love” into an absurd drama. Staring at the milk just taken from the fridge, the girl wondered when the milk had turned sour. “Since when did we turn sour?” she mumbled. “Is it the physical intimacy that speeds up our expiration date?” she asked her diary, “Since when did everything get stamped with a petty expiration date? A peach, canned peaches, and even plastic wraps expire.” Still, she never knew when love, this relationship, the not-for-sale ones came to an end.

When looking back, watching the self that always failed to register the significance of the moments, she would finally gasp out, “Oh yeah, that was the end!” With hindsight, everything seemingly makes sense. With the perception of the present altering the past, reality is shifting sands. Time flew, and she finally understood little by little the nature of their relationship. 

In love, they wrote poems, short stories, and even a novella to each other. They couldn’t see how anything could ever go wrong. Not until they left the Eden of innocence did they realize that the real world was where they dwelled and that the burdens of heavy fantasies were suffocating them. This love grew in their heads. Instead of falling for each other, they fell for their own projections. Sometimes she even doubted if she had ever loved him, the actual him. Looking at the boy now, she was speechless, overwhelmed by guilt and dazzled by confusion.

Love is short and, above all, way too confusing. One never knows when or why it begins and is clueless about how it ends. She never wanted to apply the law of time to this romance nor the law of impermanence. But nothing could stop these laws from stumbling upon this relationship, not even love could, plus she wasn’t even sure if it was love. Perhaps she just needed an arm to hold, warmth to be cradled in, someone to talk to, someone to kiss…. Sadly, that someone didn’t necessarily have to be him. 

Their courses diverged. Christmas cards, poems, and tear-soaked pillowcases have become their collection of souvenirs. In the middle of countless midnights, she vaguely recalled touches, some kisses, a voice, and some whispering. Then the images started distorting, fading, like elongated shadows under the dying sun. The memories got so blurred with smoke from her new life. The scents of him were the first to die. In the end, the figure turned transparent. 

She is free now. Time has paused for her to think hard and deep about what this means. In this boundless canvas of azure, a bird flies past, free and safe, but completely alone.

Reviews

[Laz K.]

I cannot tell you how much this resonates with me. I don't know if I should feel disillusioned or grateful now, knowing that my experience wasn't unique. Your poem describes the process very well.