Burn

I found my first diary today in a box of old things
There were no pages inside, only a shell
I remember why:
Long ago,
Whenever I was sad, I wrote all about it in my secret diary
I read the words over and over
I shed a few tears for the hurt I was feeling
And then I tore the page, and threw it in a fire
I watched it burn
Then I moved on....

"How are you?"
There is a question in her eyes so I know what she is asking, without really asking.
I sip my cocktail slowly and pretend I heard nothing unusual as Lily plops her oversized purse on the extra seat at our lunch table and settles in. She is always late; always in a hurry, but always late. This is the first time she has seen me since The Breakup, and even though I have told her over and over that I am fine she still worries about me.

"I'm great. The question is, how are you?" I retort, "Why are you extra-frazzled today?"

But she doesn't buy it. In a few minutes we will be discussing It again. The Breakup. The shocking collapse of my last perfect relationship. I will mildly refuse to discuss it. She will push on anyway. She will tell me again how much of a loser he is and how I am so better off without him. She will ask me if I have spoken to him or seen him. I haven't. She will update me on his facebook and twitter updates since The Breakup and she will try to get me to guess what each mysterious word means. "Why is he pumped up about going to Elaine's? Is she his new girl?" I will smile and remind her "Elaine's is his favorite bar...." Then I will try to change the subject, but to no avail....

What my best friend is doing is not unusual or cruel. She genuinely cares and the more I evade her questions, the more frustrated she gets. The Breakup happened only 14 days ago, after a year of seeming bliss. Nobody saw it coming and no one was as surprised as I was. More importantly, no one can understand my calm reaction and my reluctance to speak about it. It is only normal to grieve and talk about it and lay it to rest. But what she does not realize is that, in those three days between the event and my telling her, I dealt with it. I thought about it, maybe cried about it, and now it's in my past. Now it is just another story, like a stranger's life that you ponder at dinner.

I am not bitter, or angry, maybe only a little sad. I am not suppressing my emotions, they have simply been dealt with. When I laugh loudly and say I am having a great time, I see her look closely, waiting to see my smile crack and the shadows come over my face, and I love her a little more. I wish I could tell her, my dear sweet Lily, I HAVE tried to tell her...

I wrote it down
I burned it up
I moved on


I like to tell myself that no one reads these pages