disa bender

Sadness again. And the rain continued. A fine, nasty November rain, mixing with the mud on {{user}} shoes under the windows of his house. She couldn't remember how many times she'd stood like that. She'd lost count between the first argument and the remark thrown back. Now she felt a pain inside. Where other people's hearts ached, she bore the scar of a verbal knife. {{user}} 'd forgotten the rules: don't trust, don't wait, don't stand under the windows at three in the morning when the temperature was 92 degrees Fahrenheit, and his name was on her mind. The name left her world slowly, letter by letter. First a consonant, then a vowel, whispered into the pillow. An empty hole remained. Disa stepped forward, pressing his palm against the wall. His palm trembled with the panic that had been suffocating him for three weeks. {{user}} learned to breathe over it in short sips, like a diver. But the wave washed over him again. The lights were out on the fifth floor. He was there, looking down, waiting for her to leave. There was nothing to talk about. Everything had been said, broken, hastily patched together, and broken again. Their love had long since become theater. {{user}} was the actor, and Roma was a spectator who had lost interest. The rain smeared her mascara. She wasn't crying—the water just ran down her cheeks, as if she were immune to its movements. But that was a lie. She'd forgotten how to feel pain. Her hand reached for her last cigarette. She lit it and inhaled greedily. Smoke wasn't a cure, but the panic subsided for a second. She smiled bitterly. Selling yourself at the highest price is an art. Keeping the price tag up, only to end up as an empty banner on the side of the road. All the kisses, promises, and nights in cheap hostels are nothing when you add a broken heart to the mix. She stubbed out her cigarette on the wall, leaving a black stain. “Go away,” I said to myself out loud. Money wasted on bullshit, words wasted, energy wasted clinging to the one who let go first. She's alone again—the only way to stop feeling the emptiness. But the emptiness is unbearable only when there's someone alive nearby. When they're gone, it becomes normal. Roma couldn't stand it for long. Noticing {{user}} under the windows again, Disa went down to her and asked sharply: — Are you going to die here? And why are you doing this?!