Falling out of love is misplaced movement, like a paper cut on your finger. At first, it’s piercing. Then it goes numb. There’s not much blood because you took care of that by sucking the fine slice to the point where it dried up. The cleansing, cold water that runs over and between your fingers doubles as a reality check. It only takes a few hours for the stinging to transpire, for the pain to sink in. It is rich; it feels like someone is taking the same piece of paper and recommitting the cut, sliding it in the fresh, fleshy slash. It smarts. But I’m smarter. The twinge of pain reminds me that I will have to go on and feel deeper. I see my blood and I think, bleeding paints truth. Seeing my blood speaks to me, and I listen. No one wants to listen to me. Sometimes I think I should see a therapist, just so I can feel again what it is like to have someone listen to me. Not just the “I’ll call you tomorrow, when we have more time to talk,” the “I know I owe it to you and I want to catch up on everything I’ve missed,” or the “my dad, my best friend, my old friend, the bartender needs me.” Everything you missed is gone. I don’t want to recycle September. I want to experience October. And I want to go it alone, without you.

My computer has fell ill, and it’s trying to tell me something. While trying to connect to the internet a pop-up does just that by informing me that it simply can’t connect. No can do. Next thing I know, I’m facing two options – click either ‘OK’ or ‘Try again.’ Naturally, I click on ‘Try again,’ not only once but maybe five times. Mid-dozen, I realize that my life is that fucking ‘try again’ button. Try again, try again, try again... when who am I kidding? If my computer wanted to connect, it would. I have been notified already that there are complications by the dreadful pop-up memo, yet I keep trying my luck, which is evidently nonexistent. Hail Cyber God and the Almighty God, I’m done trying. I’m going to bed, I’m going on with my life. I can hope that in the morning my computer will connect, maybe not by the same signal. I am hoping that my life will connect in other ways come morning, come October, come January. I have sworn off the ‘Try again’ button. Fin.

Men and mascara always run.