Well i finished it early haha. A rough cut, may be changed but with no more excuses...I call it Pierced...
The first time he told me he loved me was the day I got my belly button pierced. We were at some little tattoo and piercing place next to the gas station (where I started smoking) and across from the bus stop (were the strangest things always happened). He asked me to be his girlfriend despite the distance that would inevitably have to happen. In our “types” of lives it always comes with distance, unless we get married…which was way out of the question. “It’s like your first time having sex, except at least you get a nice piece of jewelry out of it,” words of the stranger that pierced my body and left a bit of metal and pink shiny jewels. My first time (like many others) was the worst, too drunk to feel or care enough but not drunk enough to forget it happened. I cried and felt sick to my stomach for days after. At least he wasn’t a stranger, but I did find out I didn’t really know him.
My piercer told me to keep it clean, estimated time of healing: unknown. “Depends on the person,” he said, “sometimes it never really heals completely.” My boyfriend was there when he said it, he heard it. Neither of us knew that that healing process would be go hand in hand with the one of our relationship. From that day to the time I left for home things were either up or down. We had no such thing as a middle, we loved each other, we kissed, we hugged, we where the couple to be. We were mad, I couldn’t do what he wanted, he couldn’t be who I wanted, we were drunk, and we were cloudy. With each day my wound puss and never healed; I laid on it in my sleep or pulled my belt to tight and caused it to bled. He hugged me too close and sent pain through my body. The pain was minimal some days, less puss and no blood. I wore cut off tanks to show my jewel, he kissed it. But, none the less, it still wasn’t healed, still wasn’t through its process of regeneration.
The day I flipped that place the bird goodbye was just like the day I got pierced. That last kiss on the cheek was the stab, the card he put in my hand was the ring. And the pain was something new. It circulated from my heart to my head and back again. Just like the piercing I had my bad (I thought about him, I kissed a guy and wanted it to be him, he talked about his ex, I drank and thought about him, I drank and cried over him, I called him drunk) and good (we had a sober conversation, I didn’t think about him). Even with our new found distance I still couldn’t let go entirely. I fought with myself about new potential relationships or even just being alone for a time. I admit, the feelings were fading, but they needed to be gone. A few months passed and for the first time, I truly WANTED to be healed.
A few days ago I was at Target, just picking up some things and wondered into the greeting card section. There I saw it (cliché), the perfect card for you. The perfect way to wish you well, the perfect way for me to let go of the emotions completely, and the perfect way for you to know that we will always be friends. I signed the card with love, I’m not in love anymore, but I do love you. It’s lying on my nightstand, addressed and with a nice little stamp. The next day I took a shower and my belly ring had no scab, no puss, no pain and no blood. It had healed. I thought I was wrong, but the next day it was still perfect. It was healed, I was healed. I know it sounds stupid. I know some will not get it, but that’s really how it happened. Slow and painfully, but it finally healed. My belly button and my heart
Now, I walk to the mailbox and let you know that I am healed and I am here. AKC
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