It's another winter, and I'm alone again. I was expecting it, to be honest. It was always the time when I cried alone, no shoulder to lean on. It was always the time when I was drowning and had no hand to hold on to. It was always winter. I thought you were different. Your smile was brighter, lustre. Your heart held warmth and your pulchritude was unbeatable. But beauty doesn't mean everything. What matters is that I'm spending Christmas alone. I remember telling you about Maria, my ex. I remember you saying how sad my story was, and how you swore to never repeat her deeds. I guess promises are broken sometimes, and that breaks my heart even more. It leaves me on my doorstep when snow starts to fall, unopened present in my hands. My tears are my only warmth now, and the cycle starts again. It begins at the cafe, our cafe. I secretly hope you still order my hot chocolate. I wish to bring out my recipe book and bake our special brownies. I long to tell our jokes and laugh, but you turned back and I couldn't follow. I thought you were the rose, but you're the thorn and pain stabs my heart all over again. I can't bear it. I stand up, and my legs instantly want to collapse, but I need to get through this. I need to push my problems away. I walk indoors and glance at the vase on the table, roses of all sorts; your favourite. I sigh and sit down. Is my heart too delicate? Am I too different? Did you fake it, and just want to see my tear-stained face? I hold up my phone, and open Messages. 'You are just like Maria and the others. You never truly loved me.' I hit send. I see you typing but I switch my phone off. It's time to move on. Moving on is hard with you. The memories we made are plentiful, but I start with our shared passion - baking. We only made brownies, so now I bin the recipe and make cookies instead. A small step, but still one. My phone buzzes in the background and I check. You've replied, saying some nonsense about being sorry, how you found another girl. That's what they all say, I think, before deleting you from my contacts and putting the cookies in the oven. I sit down and think about what happened. It feels impossible, like the time I was so caught up in my cartwheels that when I went in to do an illusion, I slipped and fell into the box splits. But I got over that. So I can get over you right? The cookies are done and I take them out, but I'm in deep thought and don't eat them. Do you want me to care? Do you want to see the pain in my eyes? Should I mask my sadness and act like I've moved on? I shake my head and take a picture of my cookies and upload it onto my social media. There. I've moved on, even if it's a little bit, it's fine. I bite my cookie and stare at the frosted windows where birds fly and the sun has come out. I think of all the things I've missed out while spending time with you - building snowmen (you would never accept that), painting (you hated art) and family time (I spent every day with you). So, I want to thank you, Amber. Thank you for breaking the cycle of girlfriends and ex-girlfriends. You helped me in a way you never thought you would. Love, Adira
This is not my best work, but I enjoyed writing a different style, instead of a get-together, a break-up. This is meant to be a letter from Adira, the narrator to her ex, Maria, thanking her for teaching her how to break her cycle of girlfriends and ex-girlfriends.
