Walk back to your ratty apartment doing your best impersonation of a zombie and repeat the mantra of the day: as if it matters. Sense in a vague and detached way that you’re hungry and wonder when was the last time that you ate. Think about this for far longer than it should take you to recall such a simple fact.
Smell the fumes of the truck driving past you and recollect, with startling clarity, the sound she made when she laughed. Replay the lilting, titillating sound in your mind as you drag your body along the route that’s programmed into your steps. Wonder why you keep thinking of her when you know with certainty that you’re glad you left.
Repeat the last fight you had and remember that detached look she had in her eyes- the look that made you feel like an ant who’d wandered onto her picnic blanket and ruined the whole damned spread. Bask in the warmth of your anger, still fresh in your blood, and rest assured that you really are so much better off.
Lose that feeling immediately upon turning the key in your lock and opening the door to your achingly empty living room. Sigh louder and more dramatically then you intend to and then kick yourself for being such a morose bastard.
Throw your keys down on the coffee table, littered with empty drive-through cups and cigarette butts and feel heavier. Seriously consider the possibility that you’re headed for an early heart attack if you don’t get your shit together and stumble over to the refrigerator praying that there’s an apple or a cup of yogurt of at least a carrot in there.
Wilt at the sight of the empty shelves and that box of baking soda stuck in the back and momentarily allow yourself to sink deeper into the gloom that’s taken hold of you. Linger in the unnaturally white light while questioning how the hell you let it get so bad and then shake your head and swear that you’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow.
Grab a can of spaghettios from the cabinet and open it into a plastic bowl. Toss it into the microwave and hit the buttons. Think about the smell of her hair as it draped over you in bed, the way her skin felt when you brushed up against her under the covers, the weight of her as she slept on your chest. Stir to the sound of the ding and hate yourself for drifting off again.
Stand there alone in your tiny kitchen in your shitty apartment and wish that you’d stayed.