I find it so interesting how sentimental humans are. We pick random things, assign them meaning, and become attached. Pictures, objects, places, people, foods, drinks, whatever it is. Someone, somewhere, views it sentimentally.

For me, it’s the same. But I find it appears in so many random, out of the ordinary ways. And I hate being taken off guard by it.

---

The first bout of pain was sitting there at my cousin’s and music was playing. It was fun at first, it really was. The music was EDM mainly, and mixes, so I moved to the music and stayed on my feet. What did me in was “Mr. Brightside” for some reason. The intro made my heart sink, and I stared at her phone, turned it on, and almost skipped it until I saw them dancing to it. I left it on and tried to block it out, but I couldn’t. I don’t know why that hurt me, it just did. But the lyrics got in my head, my brain started to work, my mind wandering to places it hates going but goes anyway. The nausea returned, and I pushed away the can in front of me. “Want to just split this?” I asked. Agreement, but I hardly heard it. It was shared, and I left the rest of it untouched. I was too sick to my stomach.

---

I already know going to the bar is going to be painful. The first bar sucked. It was where our second date was. On my way in, I glanced over to that corner booth where we sat, those years ago, huddled up. She had her legs over my lap. We kept getting asked how long we had been together, which was funny because we just met. We made up stories about how long we were together, how we met, and all of that. I had to tear my eyes away. Being this sober was not easy when this feeling was so overwhelming. I got a jack & coke, just like I had then, but this time, I got water with it. I moved to a part of the bar where I couldn’t see that booth anymore. I knew that if I could still see it, I’d just stare at it. But then I remembered when we had come here on a Wednesday night. It was empty. I realized I was in the exact same spot we had been, a few months ago I think. My stomach lurched and there were suddenly way too many people. I needed to get out. Made an excuse of going to the bathroom, but went outside. It was cold, so not many people were out there. But I took a breath of that cold air and talked myself down.

---

Ah, if I thought that would be the end, I was sorely mistaken. It was only the beginning. We left, went to another bar across the street. This one hurt too. It was the more recent visit for us. I was fine at first, until we sat at the bar in the same spot we had waited. It was at this time when I had just switched to water for the rest of the night (here’s my stoic courage and resolve coming out). I moved away from the bar and sat next to the fire. I pressed my back up against the metal mesh screen in place so no drunkard gets themselves burnt. The heat was nice. I was cold, I wasn’t dressed properly. I haven’t been thinking clearly lately. My friends kept getting me up on my feet. The people they met kept trying to get me up too. I’d cave, I didn’t want to rain on everyone’s parade with my gloominess, but eventually I’d sit back down. I was sober at a bar and it wasn’t even 1:00am. I kept checking my watch, and kept pulling out my phone to write in my notes app. I tried to stay present, I really did. And I did, at times, participate. But I didn’t feel like talking to any of those people that my friends met, I wanted to be left in peace. The final straw was when I was dragged onto my feet again, and I turned my head to look at stupid Adam Sandler on the wall. We took some of my favorite pictures there, with him in the background. I could’ve dropped then and there. That was it. I wanted to go home. My cousin kept checking on me. I said I wanted to go home, but there was no rush. But I wanted to get out of there.

---

I thought we were going home when this bar closed, but we went back to that godforsaken first bar again because this one stayed open later and they wanted another stop before we headed out. We ran into some old friends, Croatian guys, and got to talking. Went outside where they had cigarettes. I took fun videos of all of us hanging out, and wanted to send those to her. I wanted to share it. Another Croatian showed up, then the guys started arguing. I tried to play mediator because they were itching for a fight, and the whole thing was so comical. The entire time, and the entire way home, I just kept wishing that I could tell her about it. She’s my best friend. I pulled my phone out in the car and read through my blog posts again. Over and over. For some reason it was soothing.

---

Walking up to the second floor of someone’s house, and seeing that couch with those faux fur pillows that she slept on during a party. Suddenly, I know that’s the only place where I’m going to sleep tonight. I don’t care that everyone else is watching TV on the other couches. I shower so I can hide my emotions in the stream of water that’ll smear my mascara and my eyeliner. I couldn’t find my waterproof stuff. I didn’t want to think about it earlier, but I stare at the shirt I brought to sleep in. It’s been washed, scent gone, which makes me a bit nauseous somehow. I don’t care that it’s a polo, it’s a soft, black and white striped one that I borrowed weeks ago when I somehow forgot a shirt for work. I’m going to wear it to sleep. I know I probably look silly, I don’t care. I put it on, and quietly make my way back to the couch. I curl up in same spot, the same way, use the same blanket, and hold it tightly around me. And the entire time, my chest aches. I have no idea if I want to cry, or if I just want to go for a walk, but I can’t do either here. It’s 4:00am. If I leave now, if I make any noise, I’ll be found out. My headphones go in. I stare blankly at my screen, audiobook of The Titan’s Curse playing in my ears. I don’t remember deciding to sleep.

---

Morning comes. I know I didn’t sleep much. I can feel it behind my eyes. I keep my eyes closed even though I hear everyone else stirring. There’s such a heavy weight in my chest, I don’t want anyone to know I’m awake. I can’t speak to anyone right now. When I feel like they’ve gone away, my eyes finally open. I stare out toward the balcony, out into the field, but it’s obscured by a thick layer of fog. That was somehow satisfying. There was no reason the day should be bright.

---

It was cold in the morning. I mean, it really was kind of chilly, and I didn’t want to put the stuff on that I had last night at the bar, even though I had a sweater. So I walked out in that polo I slept in, and knew I had something in my back seat. I pulled on a pink hoodie, and drove home. Got out of the car. Went to put my keys in my pocket. Then, I felt it. A crumpled up, clean napkin from Starbucks. The last time I had been to Starbucks was with her, and on the way out the door I stuck some napkins in my pocket to leave in my car. I guess this one never made it out. I unfolded it, stared at it, then looked up at the grey sky. “I Wonder” by Russell Dickerson starts playing in my head and I feel incredibly nauseous, like I could throw up any second. We even went to that concert together. The napkin went back into my pocket until I got to my room, then I tossed it on my dresser. It sits there now, and stares at me. I was attached to a stupid napkin. I needed to get a grip.

---

Finally, that emotion I was working so hard to hide comes out. I sit in the shower and try to calm down. I can’t, not really. All these things were just from maybe ten hours? Twelve? Not even an entire day, and this wasn’t even half of my thoughts. Just the ones that I feel like I can even get out.

But anyway, I sit there in my shower, and I’m staring at the drain. The water is getting into my eyes and it stings, it’s too hot and not hot enough at the same time, and when I breathe I feel the water come in. Something about this reminds me of my dream, but I can’t really remember it. She was in it, though. And it infuriates me that I can’t remember it. I tell myself it’ll come back to me later. But the thought of her evading me even in my dreams feels sickening.

I get out, dry off, and I decide that I’m going to put a new post up. It feels like the right way to work through my feelings, so I gather my thoughts and my laptop and start to write.

Half the time that I’m writing this, my eyes are glazed over and I just stare at the words, not processing anything that I’ve written. The other half, I’m typing through blurry eyes and try to remind myself to take slow, deep breaths.

I’m exhausted. I don’t sleep well. I felt safe when I slept with her. Sleeping alone now feels so foreign. It’s hard. I want to nap, but at the same time I want a coffee and I want to stay up and write more and I want to read something or go outside or sit with my brother but I can’t find anything within myself to do any of those things. I’m so nauseous again and yet still hungry. My open journal is staring at me. My 5 year journal taunts me with memory. Every. Single. Entry. Has her in it.

But it’s day by day, I guess, until I know for sure.

Again, I come to this: А ти моє серденько. Я не можу жити без серденька.