Limbo

What I cannot forget from seven hours ago are the words that were uttered.


Do you know how it feels to teeter on the brink of vertigo?


Do you know what terror I felt during that brief inquisition?


Or the same terror I felt when I held my breathe in this infinitesimal second before you blurted out the words to validate the uncertainty of what I was holding dear for the past four months?


No. I didn't think I was being unfair.


So I asked you to leave so you can contemplate if you will come back.


I'd said I'd wait.


I see my nails turning purple from the cold.


I see the color of heartbreak and regret.

I see you, no, I feel you slipping through my fingers like red silk ribbons clumped at one's feet cluttered with crumpled and discarded giftwrapping papers.

Discarded.